


A Hero Known as Gwaine

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Guilt, Lies, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: Gwaine falls in love, and falls hard, but his lady love leaves him in the dirt for fame and fortune. A year later, a young man named Merlin arrives on his doorstep and offers him a second chance with Sophia, and a chance to get revenge on the man who took her from him. (AKA a Galavant inspired AU)
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 117
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Merlin mentions physical abuse when discussing what happened to him. It is not described in detail, and no abuse actual happens on or off screen.

The wind rushes passed Gwaine’s ears, drowning out the world around him and blowing his hair from his face. His heartbeat thrums steadily in his chest. His horse’s hooves pound the soft earth heavily, carrying him ever closer to his goal.

The castle looms large in the distance, growing ever larger as they approach. Guards man the gate that leads into the lower town, and they take up arms as they see him ride.

A wicked grin spreads across his face. They’ll be no match for him. 

He bursts into the narrow streets, and leaps from the back of his horse, sword already in hand. He knocks two guards to the ground before they can even swing at him. He pivots and blocks the downward swing of another guard, then kicks him in the chest, throwing him back. 

He abandons his horse there, and continues on foot. He weaves his way through the streets, sneaking by routine patrols. He slips through another gate, and emerges into the castle courtyard. Not long to go now.

He runs up the steps that lead into the castle, and becomes acquainted with some of the castle guards rather quickly. They aren’t nearly as easy to subdue as the ones outside, which is to be expected. He is getting closer to the king after all. 

He escapes with a cut on one arm, and the guards are hard in pursuit. He picks up his speed, urging himself onward. He can hear the ceremony happening in the great hall in front of him, and he wrenches the double doors open with all his might.

The fancily dressed nobles all gasp and turn to look at him. He ignores them all, his gaze resolutely focused at the end of the aisle. A few guards take up arms, but the king waves his hand to dismiss them when it becomes clear Gwaine is not advancing.

Sophia looks beautiful. Her hair falls in perfect ringlets around her shoulders, and her eyes look very blue against the gold of her dress. She takes a couple of steps down form the dais towards Gwaine, forehead creased with surprise.

“Gwaine?” Even her voice is beautiful. His heart soars to hear it.

“My lady.” Gwaine sighs, happy for the first time in months. He takes a step forward, and the guards once again draw their weapons, “Alright. Alright. Now hold on. I’m sure your men and I could fight all day to an even draw, if that’s what you want, but I’ll fend them all off because here’s the thing, I love her, Arthur.” 

King Arthur raises an eyebrow, seemingly unmoved by Gwaine’s little speech. It matters not to Gwaine. He finally has eyes on his lady love, he’s never going to lose her again. He starts advancing up the aisle, trying to get closer to Sophia.

“She’s the first thing I think of in the morning, and the last thing I think of in the eve. You can offer her great fame, and great fortune, but only I can offer her great love.” Gwaine comes to a halt in front of the dais and bows low to Sophia, “And that is what she chooses.”

A hush has fallen on the crowd, and Gwaine allows himself to feel a little triumphant. Even when has to fight his way through the crowd of guards and knights in a few moments, it will all be worth it to have Sophia by his side once again.

“Actually…” Sophia’s beautiful voice rings out.

Gwaine’s stomach drops into his boots, and his head snaps up to look at her, “What?”

“Only it’s just that I rather like fame and fortune. It’s a much easier life.” Sophia says with a sweet smile.

King Arthur smirks then, still not saying a word. He steps down to Gwaine’s level so they are eye to eye, and then nods to someone that Gwaine can’t see.

The conk on the back of his head hurts less than his heart breaking. In the end, he welcomes the blackness of unconsciousness. 

**One Year Later**

The tavern reeks of sweat and stale beer. The tables are crowded with men deep in their cups. A few play cards, and others glare at anyone who enters, daring them to cause trouble. Gwaine sits in among those playing dice. Absorbed as he is in the game, he doesn’t hear the tavern door creak open.

He tosses the dice onto the table, and lets out a cheer as his number comes up. He gathers the little pile of coins on the table, and sweeps them into his hand. He shoots the men around him a winning smile, and downs the last dregs of his drink

“Better luck next time, gentlemen.” He says as he stands and crosses the room to get another drink from the tavern keep.

“Are you Gwaine?” a voice asks.

Gwaine turns, and matches the voice to a young man standing a few paces away. He’s tall, but thin, with dark unruly hair.

“Depends on who’s asking.” Gwaine responds and takes the tankard the tavern keep hands to him.

The young man’s mouth tightens, and Gwaine gets the feeling he’s trying not to roll his eyes. It isn’t an unusual response to Gwaine if he’s honest with himself.

“I need your help.” 

“With what?”

“Three months ago, my village was invaded. I was able to get away, but my mother is still there, and I need you to help me save her.” The young man explains. Gwaine gives him another once over. Thin red tunic, brown jacket that’s seen better days. If Gwaine was still a knight, this would be exactly the type of person he would help.

“Sorry, I don’t do the knight thing anymore.” Gwaine responds, and fights the guilt that creeps in when the young man’s face falls.

“But—“

“No. Sorry.”

“Please!”

Gwaine chugs the rest of his drink, and brushes passed the young man without another look, “Maybe the next village you’ll find someone. Plenty of mercenaries there.”

“I don’t have the money!” the young man protests but it falls on deaf ears.

Gwaine slides back into his place at the dice table, and prepares to roll again. He calls out his number, shakes the dice, sends a quick prayer to whatever god is listening, and throws them on the table. For a moment it looks as if he’s going to roll snake eyes, he’s already dreading the thought of having to pay back all of the winnings he collected, but the dice hover for half a heartbeat. Then, slowly but surely, they tilt and keep rolling, and Gwaine’s number comes up.

Silence falls around the table, all of them staring at the dice in front of them. Then a roar erupts. The table is tossed aside, and one of the men, big and bald with a mean face, get to his feet. He scowls at Gwaine, fists bunched at his sides.

“You cheated!”

All Gwaine can do is hold up his hands, and chuckle uncomfortably, before he’s tossed across the room. He lands on his back on another table, wind knocked from him. Dull pain radiates up into his head, but he rolls onto his feet. He has no desire to get his face punched in while he’s flopping around gasping like a fish out of water.

His roll brings him up in front of the bar, and he spots the young man from before standing behind it wide-eyed, “What do they call you then?”

“Merlin.”

“Nice to meet you, Merlin. Pass me that jug.”

Merlin turns, spots the exact jug Gwaine gestured to, and passes it over. Gwaine takes a swig from it, letting cool water sober him up a bit. 

Merlin’s eyes flick to something behind Gwaine, and he calls “Look out!” just in time for Gwaine to smash the jug into someone’s face. The man goes down, and Gwaine lets out a delighted chuckle, then turns back to Merlin.

“Think we should probably get out of here.” Gwaine says cheerfully. He loves a good tavern fight, but Merlin looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Village boys can take care of themselves, but they aren’t cut out for fights against men who get paid to kill.

Merlin’s grin matches Gwaine’s, and Gwaine thinks he hears a chuckle over the din behind them. Merlin hops over the bar, and ducks as an object is lobbed at his head. He stays low, and Gwaine covers him as they flee. Together they burst into the late afternoon sunshine.

They come to a stop several houses away, gasping for air between fits of laughter. In the daylight, Merlin’s eyes are very blue. They remind Gwaine a little of Sophia’s.

“Do you always solve your problems with a brawl?” Merlin asks, face crinkled up in a smile. It’s infectious, and Gwaine can’t stop smiling back.

“What can I say? Gets the blood up.”

Merlin chuckles again, shaking his head, “What the hell happened to you? I heard all sorts of tales about Sir Gwaine, and none of them involved getting into regular fights over dice.”

Gwaine claps Merlin on the shoulder, satisfied that he isn’t going to get himself killed, and starts to walk away. He’s spent too long in this village already. Time to move on somewhere new and exciting where no one can find him. It’s a shame really, that tavern served the best ale he’s ever had.

Merlin jogs up behind him, and falls into step, “How’s your back?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure? I was a physician’s apprentice. I could take a look at it.” Merlin offers.

Gwaine flicks his hair from his face, and smiles at Merlin with the full force of his charm. His back aches, and he’s bound to have a bruise there tomorrow, but he knows better than to let anyone know he’s been injured. Merlin seems kind enough, but those are often the ones who get you the worst.

“A little rest and I will be right as rain, my friend.”

“Can you at least tell me why you’ve quit being a knight?” Merlin asks, “Think I deserve at least that much of an explanation from you considering my trouble.”

“You always this nosy?” Gwaine asks as he pushes open the door to the cottage he’s been staying in with the owner away. He used to own one like it once. He couldn’t exactly keep it and maintain his life as an endless drifter. He doesn’t miss it so much as he misses the memories it held. Sophia’s hands on his shoulders, her mouth on his.

Merlin follows him inside without being invited, apparently not caring at all about being rude. Gwaine gives him points for being stubborn. Most people take one look at him and run for the hills, but this Merlin isn’t one easily dissuaded.

“Yes.” Merlin answers the question, and hovers in the doorway as Gwaine sheds his jacket.

Gwaine takes a seat at the rickety table and gestures for Merlin to sit. As Merlin settles into the other chair, equally as rickety as the table itself, Gwaine hooks a bottle of ale in his fingers and sets it between them.

“If I’m going to tell you, then I need significantly more alcohol.” He jokes.

Merlin shakes his head, trying to hide an amused smile, “Didn’t you drink enough at the tavern?”

“Ah, but you can never drink enough, especially when a handsome man is in your presence.”

“Flirting isn’t going to get you anywhere you know.” 

“Can you blame a man for trying?”

Merlin’s face creases into that same incredulous grin from the tavern, and Gwaine’s dead heart gives a small lurch, “Thank you, I think.”

“Are you sure you can’t just let me ravish you instead of answering questions?”

“No.” Merlin answers with a little shrug.

“Fine,” Gwaine sighs and takes a deep pull from the mostly empty bottle, “I fall in love with everyone I meet. As a result, I never knew what true love was like. Then I met Sophia.”

“And you fell.” Merlin guesses, leaning against the back of the chair.

“And fell hard,” Gwaine agrees, “She was all I could think about. My world turned with her smile. She was everything to me. So when it ended…”

“It broke your heart.” Merlin says on an exhale.

For once the tone isn’t pitying, or even sympathetic. When he’d told people of his great love in the past, they always looked at him as though he was something to be fussed over and it inevitably drove him mad. Merlin is just understanding, like the story is slotting into place. It makes for a nice change.

“I never wanted to be a knight to begin with. Only joined so my mother would stop being weepy about not following in my father’s footsteps. When it all fell apart,” Gwaine shrugs, “I went back to what I did best before. Tavern fights, and too much drink.”

Merlin’s mouth quirks up on one side, “You were very impressive back there.”

Gwaine chuckles and kicks at Merlin’s ankles under the table. Merlin kicks him back, and they fall into a comfortable silence after that. Gwaine isn’t used to this, the almost friendship. If it were any other day, he’d have Merlin stretched out on the tiny bed, panting and writhing, and while he feels the impulse because of Merlin’s odd ethereal attractiveness, he doesn’t feel inclined to follow through. It feels wrong when Merlin arrived hoping for help. Maybe some of the Knights’ Code stuck after all.

“What about you?” Gwaine asks.

“What about me?”

“Village invaded, coming to me for help. How did that happen?”

“Three months ago, Ealdor was invaded. They were looking for a powerful magical artifact, and imprisoned us all when we couldn’t give them what they were looking for.”

“You walked all the way from Essetir to Caerleon?” Gwaine is impressed. That is a far trek even for merchants with horses. From the looks of things, Merlin came on foot. 

“I wanted to find you,” Merlin says not quite meeting his eyes, “I uh… well… the stories about you got around. I thought if anyone could help me, it would be you.”

“How did you escape?”

“The physician I mentioned, he kept me hidden in a storage closet in his room. They never had any idea I was there. One night they had too much to drink, and I snuck out and ran. I lost them in the woods.”

“Sneaky bastard.”

“You have no idea.” Merlin agrees.

Gwaine sighs, sits forward, and rests his hands on Merlin’s, “If you had asked only a year ago, I wouldn’t hesitate to help you, but as I said, I’m out of the knight business. No more damsels in distress. No matter how lovely they are.”

Merlin’s blue eyes flash with anger, and for a second Gwaine swears they turn gold. It’s unnerving. Merlin sits forward in his seat once more so he can look Gwaine in the face.

“I listened for months as they terrorized the people I grew up with, my best friend died trying to save me, my mother is still there, and I walked all the way to Caerleon, and now your advice is to sit back as King Arthur burns Ealdor to the ground for something he won’t ever find?”

All the air leaves Gwaine’s lungs in a rush, and his blood roars in his ears like that day in Camelot. A picture of a smug regal face, and shining blonde hair dances in front of his eyes. Sophia’s sweet voice echoes in his ears. After all this time…

“Did you just say King Arthur?”

Merlin glances away, and nods, “He’s a cruel man. He didn’t just terrorize my village, he terrorized his queen. Her cries of pain were heard across the village, and I listened for months as he screamed at her. We’d fall asleep every night listening to her sob. She kept saying she made the wrong choice, and apologizing to someone named Lane.”

Gwaine lets out a sound halfway between a chuckle, and sob. He remembers a warm spring day. Her head tucked under his chin as her delicate fingers traced a pattern on his chest. Her eyes looking so blue, and his mind going a little fuzzy around the edges as he gazed into them. 

“I love you, ‘aine.” She had said, and Gwaine felt like he was set adrift in sunlight. She was the only one to ever call him that. It has to be her. She regrets her choice to leave him for Arthur.

“She wasn’t saying Lane.” Gwaine says softly.

Merlin’s eyes meet his, wide and nervous. Gwaine can’t focus on why that expression might grace his features. He has a true love to rescue. He grins at Merlin, and hops to his feet.

“Alright, my friend. Start packing. We leave for Ealdor in the morning.”

“Really?” Merlin asks, gazing at him with something akin to hope.

“I have a woman to rescue, and if that means saving your village in order to do it, then all the better.”

Merlin’s smile returns full force and he stands so he is level with Gwaine, “I still can’t pay you.”

“Reuniting with my Sophia will be its own reward.”

Merlin nods, once, hiding an amused smile in the corners of his mouth. He holds his arm out, and Gwaine’s eyebrows raise in surprise. How a country boy came to know a knight’s grip is a mystery of its own. He could have come across a few knights in his long walk to Caerleon, and no doubt they couldn’t help Merlin without risking all-out war with Arthur.

Gwaine clasps Merlin’s forearm, and Merlin’s long fingered hand grips his in return. Gwaine gazes into blue eyes, and thinks of Sophia. He never thought he’d see his lady love again. He owes Merlin for giving him something to hope for once more.

They ride for Ealdor in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwaine jerks awake with a shuddering gasp, heart pounding in his chest. He clenches his necklace tight in one fist, hauling in deep breaths as he tries to orient himself. He can smell smoke, and his eyes dart to the side to try to find the source. He releases another breath when he sees Merlin, crouched on his heels in front of a campfire.

Just like that, reality trickles back to him. The dead leaves under his bedroll that crunch when he moves, the crispness to the air that comes from leaving Caerleon for the kingdoms closer to the coast. He glances down at his legs, and lets out another relieved huff of air.

“I have my trousers.” He says, drawing Merlin’s attention.

Merlin’s gaze focuses on him with something between amusement, and irritation. It is an expression he wears well, and not for the first time Gwaine wonders where he learned it.

“Did you have that dream again?” Merlin asks, and turns back to poking at whatever he’s cooking up for breakfast.

“What dream?” Gwaine bluffs, sitting up properly.

“Whatever one has you gasping out Sophia’s name in your sleep, and then startling awake like we’re being attacked by bandits.” Merlin scoops something into a bowl, straightens from his crouch, and then hands it over to Gwaine, “Sorry. It’s just more stew from last night.”

Gwaine shovels into his mouth, hoping that the presence of food in his stomach will do something to alleviate the weight settled in it. He knew the dreams weren’t exactly subtle, but he had no idea that Merlin was paying close enough attention to notice the pattern to them. 

“Stew’s fine.”

Merlin goes back to the fire, and scoops some for himself. They eat in silence next to the crackling fire, and simply listen to the sounds of nature going on around them. Gwaine can feel Merlin’s eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the stew like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“What _do_ you dream about?” Merlin asks softly.

Unbidden the dream crowds its way into Gwaine’s mind once more. Sophia’s face creased with laughter at the idea of taking him back, King Arthur standing behind her with that same stupid smug expression on his face from the wedding day, kissing her where Gwaine used to; where shoulder meets neck. The humiliation of not only rejection, but standing in front of them in just his smallclothes. 

“Had a dream about a cheese that tasted of apple pie.” He says evasively. It’s not totally a lie. He’s had that dream before. It just isn’t the one that wakes him up every night, heart pounding in terror.

Merlin sends him a narrow eyed look that clearly shows that the story isn’t believed, but he doesn’t push anymore. Gwaine is almost pitifully grateful. He’s meant to be the swaggering hero of this story, not a man haunted by loneliness and heartbreak.

Merlin sets about putting out the fire now that breakfast is served and, so quietly Gwaine almost doesn’t hear it, says, “She doesn’t deserve you.”

Gwaine’s heart thumps hard in his chest. Some of the fear from the dream tries to leak into waking hours, and he sits there frozen, staring at Merlin’s back, “Careful, or I’ll think you don’t want my help liberating Ealdor.”

“I do want your help.” Merlin says without turning around, “I’m just tired of the people I care for being hurt.”

“Aw, Merlin, are you saying that you care about me?” Gwaine teases, desperate to find solid footing. He’s always been good at comedy, making other people laugh.

His footing is promptly swept away again, as Merlin glances over his shoulder. His eyes are very blue, and very serious, “You took a little convincing, but you still agreed to come with me to Ealdor even though you barely know me. You got me out of the fight in the tavern when we first met even though you could have just left me. We’ve been travelling together for almost two weeks. Of course I care.”

Gwaine has no response to that. He stares at Merlin, mouth agape, until Merlin goes back to packing up camp. With the spell broken, Gwaine staggers to his feet and pitches in. They continue in silence, until Merlin goes to shove the bowls into his pack, and curses.

“What’s wrong?” Gwaine asks, hand on the hilt of his sword. A snake? Something else dangerous and bite-y?

Merlin crouches back on his heels again, and looks up at Gwaine unhappily, “We have maybe a day of rations left, and I’m no good at hunting.”

“And we don’t have time if we want to get to Ealdor before King Arthur does something rash.” Gwaine adds with horrible understanding.

“We have no money to purchase rations elsewhere.” Merlin finishes.

“Well, that is quite the pickle.” Gwaine agrees, “How much money do we have left?”

Merlin roots around in the inside pockets of his bag, and produces a single copper. He wasn’t joking about not having enough for rations. That will barely buy them a pint each at the next tavern. 

“Well we have some,” Gwaine says with cheer that he doesn’t feel, “Not all is lost.”

Merlin opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then snaps it shut. He presses his lips tightly together so that they turn white, and huffs an annoyed sigh through his nose, then turns back to putting away the supplies.

“I’ll make it last, Merlin.”

“How do you make a single copper last?” Merlin asks, distinctly put out.

Gwaine claps him on one deceptively boney shoulder. Each time he touches Merlin, he’s surprised by the strength hidden under the almost too large jacket and the ratty scarf. The simple truth is that Merlin is built, if not in the same way as a sword fighter. Mysterious he is for someone who also spends most of his day telling Gwaine his jokes are terrible, but grinning so large it crinkles his eyes.

“You saw how well I gamble back in Caerleon.”

Amusement flashes across Merlin’s eyes before it is quickly buried once more, “You got lucky back in Caerleon.”

“Are you impugning my gambling ability, my friend?”

“I’m saying gambling is too risky. We need to find something more sure.”

“What have we left to lose?”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up, “We could rack up a horrible debt and get chased across Albion by a pack of angry curs.”

“That’s a very specific fear.”

“There’s precedent.”

Gwaine is left speechless once more, wondering who the hell he decided to involve himself with. Merlin seems to hide stories the way other men hide gold. 

“One day, I want to learn all about the life you lead that got you chased across Albion by angry gamblers.”

“If we survive Ealdor, maybe I’ll tell you.” Merlin responds.

“No point in sitting here wondering,” Gwaine says at last, desperate to shake the weird morning from his shoulders, “I say we go to the next city, and see what we can find to make us some money.”

Merlin shrugs, and slides back into his jacket, “It’s as good an idea as any.” 

The last of the supplies pack away easily, and they continue on the path they’ve been travelling. Essetir sits to the southeast of Caerleon, and they figured it would be safer to go through Nemeth to get there instead of Mercia. It will take a couple extra days, but the bandit levels are much lower, and as Merlin pointed out, they wouldn’t save Ealdor any better if they were dead.

They talk a bit as they walk, but it’s not as easy as when you’re riding a horse. Their packs weigh heavy on their shoulders even with the reduced weight from eating most of the rations. The terrain is tricky here as well, the trees are packed densely together and the roots grab at your ankles when you’re not paying attention.

Merlin suffers it with surprisingly good humor. Gwaine would have expected far more irritation from someone who spent their life on flat idyllic farmland. Merlin just keeps his eyes on the ground so as not to trip, and charges onward with a determination that edges on stubborn. 

Gwaine is so focused on making sure Merlin doesn’t trip and break his neck, that he almost misses it. The bit of parchment is tacked to a tree, and only the fluttering of the wind makes him notice it. He comes to a halt, and Merlin trudges on for several more paces before realizing Gwaine has yet to catch up. He turns back with a plaintive look.

“I had momentum.” He says breathlessly.

Gwaine just grins back at him, “I think I may have just found a way to solve our money problems.”

Merlin sighs, and trudges back to the tree. Gwaine gestures smugly at the notice tacked there.

Tourney. Single Combat. Winnings: 1000 Gold.

“Can you win?” Merlin asks, voice tinged with hope.

“Of course. I’m one of the best swordsmen in Albion.”

Merlin turns away from the notice, and looks hard at Gwaine. Hope wars with something else hard to identify on his face.

“You also haven’t been a knight in over a year.”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t picked up some tricks from some of my less than reputable acquaintances.”

The darker expression starts to fade from Merlin’s eyes. Instead it is replaced by trust, and relief. Gwaine just hopes he’s worthy of such an expression.

The path to the next city takes them off their intended path, going west instead of east. It will be worth the slight delay in travel if it means they can purchase a couple of horses. It could cut the travel time by at least a week. Gwaine just has to win.

The city the tourney is in is rather small compared to the other places Gwaine has competed. There’s a castle, but the lower town is too small to host a proper tourney field. Instead the grounds are set up outside of the wall between the border of the trees, and the wall itself. There aren’t very many people there to watch, and much of the ground is covered in mud. No doubt the lord of this castle thought hosting a tourney would bring in wayward knights hoping to gain experience; those more willing to part with what coin they had.

He glances to Merlin, and Merlin just shrugs. After a fortnight of constant travel together, they don’t have to use words as much as Gwaine expected. Merlin’s look translated to, roughly, _your guess is as good as mine_.

Gwaine spots the sign up table, manned by a bored looking man in his forties, and tilts his head towards it. Merlin flashes him a little grin, and they make their way over together.

The man sighs at their approach, “How many are signing up?”

“Just me, my good man.” Gwaine responds, flashing a charming grin. He can’t see so much as sense Merlin rolling his eyes. One day they’re going to get stuck like that.

“Ten gold.” The man drawls.

“Ah.” Gwaine says, trying not to let his hesitation show. He meets Merlin’s gaze, silently pleading for help.

Merlin tilts his head, exasperated, but steps up gamely, “Do you know who this is?”

The Bored Man looks Gwaine over, and turns his unimpressed look to Merlin once more, “A knight?”

“Not just any knight,” Merlin says, leaning in conspiratorially, “This is Sir Gwaine. _The_ Sir Gwaine from the songs. The Hero of Hollowrock! Lord of…” he trails off and turns to Gwaine with a small frown, “What was that nickname?”

“Lord of the Sword.” Gwaine responds with a great deal of amusement.

“Lord of the… No. I’m sorry. That’s just too ridiculous.” Merlin says with a frown, “But either way, everyone knows Sir Gwaine!”

The Bored Man sighs, and leans his elbows on the table, “What does that matter?”

“Well surely that means his honor is enough to let him enter this tournament.”

“Sorry. Can’t accept honor as a form of currency.”

Merlin huffs a frustrated sigh, and shoots Gwaine a look over his shoulder. Gwaine just grins back. He thinks Merlin is doing mighty well enough convincing the man on his own. He doesn’t need Gwaine’s brand of help mucking it up. Besides, seeing Merlin struggle is very amusing.

“We can offer you a copper?” Merlin suggests when he realizes Gwaine isn’t going to be stepping in to help.

“Are you having me on?” 

“A copper, and the promise that if he loses we will help clear the grounds for free?”

The Bored Man narrows his eyes, looking first at Merlin, then Gwaine. When his gaze lands on Gwaine, he smiles in a way he hopes is sincere enough. He hasn’t had to convince anyone of his honor in years. Before everything with Sophia, the crest of Caerleon did all the convincing before him, and for the last year he’s had no honor to speak of, far preferring to fall back on his reputation as a scoundrel. It’s admirable of Merlin to step up like this.

The Bored Man nods and holds out his hand, “Got yourselves a deal.”

Merlin shakes The Bored Man’s hand, hands him their last copper, and then turns away from the table. Together they walk back to the tree line where they left their packs.

“Are you sure you can win this?” Merlin asks as soon as they’re away from the small crowd of onlookers. His eyes are wide with… not doubt exactly, but concern. Whether that concern is for himself or for Gwaine remains to be seen.

“I’ll be fine, Merlin.” Gwaine promises, and some of the tension Merlin is carrying eases from his shoulders.

“Alright.” Merlin agrees and sits on a tree stump to watch Gwaine his long since disused chainmail from his pack.

Gwaine slides into his gambeson, noticing some moth holes as a result of being carried from place to place without proper protection. He does up the ties with a little difficulty. His chainmail comes next. He hefts it above his head, and prepares to slide into it, when Merlin hops to his feet.

“It’s on backwards.” 

Bewildered, Gwaine stops and stares at Merlin, “What?”

“You’re putting it on backwards,” Merlin says indignantly, already stepping forward to correct the mistake, “You swore you could win.”

Gwaine falls silent as Merlin removes the chainmail and flips it the right way around. He tightens the sword belt with the deft fingers of someone who’s done the action hundreds of times before.

“Merlin,” Gwaine says softly, “How does a farm boy from Ealdor know how to put on a knight’s armor?”

“Plenty of people’s fathers fought for Cenred.” Merlin responds, and takes a step back. He eyes the protection as if searching it for any defects, like he’s worried that it won’t hold up.

A lot of things make sense then. Merlin’s father must have been in Cenred’s army. No doubt Merlin had hoped to one day ride into battle alongside as a squire, and then as a knight when he became old enough. But Merlin never mentioned a father when discussing the invasion of Ealdor. A mother, a best friend, but no father. Merlin’s father must have ridden out with Cenred’s army never to return. Gwaine feels his heart ache at that. He knows that kind of pain well.

“You’ll do.” Merlin says at last.

“What? No favor to tie around my arm for luck?” Gwaine jokes.

“I think I’ll leave that to Sophia.” Merlin responds and pats Gwaine’s shoulders like he’s trying to imbue some kind of strength into him from his touch alone.

They walk back to the tourney field in silence. It’s clear Merlin is far more worried for the outcome of this fight than Gwaine himself is. Gwaine mentally contributes it to the fact Merlin has never seen him fight with a sword. The only fight they’ve ever been in together was the tavern scrap at the beginning of their travels.

“I’ll be fine.” Gwaine says, trying to assure Merlin.

Before Merlin can respond, a voice interrupts their quiet moment, “Gwaine! I thought you left the knights’ duties in disgrace!”

Gwaine lets his lip pull back in disgust for a moment, but Merlin catches the expression before he can hide it. Merlin’s gaze flickers between him, and the man interrupting them. Gwaine sucks in a deep breath, pastes a cocky smile on his face, and turns to greet him.

“Valliant, good to see you,” Gwaine says with as much swagger to his voice as he can manage, “Afraid you thought wrong.”

“No matter,” Valliant says arrogantly, “I beat you once, I can beat you again.”

“You leave out the part where you’ve beaten me _only_ once.”

Valliant gets that particular gleam to his eyes that says Gwaine is going to pay for his comment, then turns his gaze to Merlin. It goes slimy and predatory all at once. It makes Gwaine’s skin crawl. It makes him want to jump in front of Merlin, sword in hand.

Merlin is perfectly capable of handling his own. He smiles at Valliant in a disarming way that makes him look as though he has no brains to speak of when Gwaine knows, even from their limited time together, that the exact opposite is true.

“Sir Valliant, at your service.” Valliant says.

Merlin holds his hand out to shake as though Valliant is his equal, and keeps that dimwitted smile on his face, “I’m Merlin.”

Valliant’s smirk does nothing to ease Gwaine’s nerves. He takes Merlin’s fine boned hand in his, and crowds into Merlin’s space so he can’t escape. Merlin leans back a bit, probably to avoid having to share air. Valliant has always had bad breath. 

“Come see me after my bout.” Valliant purrs.

“Of course, sir!” Merlin says stupidly.

Valliant turns his smirk away from Merlin, and uses it on Gwaine. It loses the predatory edge, but gains a certain aura of smugness. If he thinks he’s taken Merlin from Gwaine then he’s mistaken. Merlin walked from Essetir to Caerleon to get help for his village, he’s not going to suddenly abandon Gwaine now because Valliant invited him to his tent.

Valliant strides away to the staging area, leaving the two of them alone once more. Merlin shudders and makes a spectacle of wiping his hands on his trousers. Gwaine feels oddly gratified by the action.

“That was disgusting,” Merlin says emphatically, “How do you know him?”

“We were both knights in Caerleon.” Gwaine explains, “And trust me he was always that foul. We were also convinced he cheated in the tourneys, but we couldn’t figure out how.”

Merlin tilts his head to the side, considering Valliant from a distance. There’s a mischievous gleam to his blue eyes when he turns back to Gwaine, “Focus on fighting. Leave Valliant to me.”

With that mysterious instruction in his ear, Gwaine steps to fight his first match. He loses sight of Merlin during, but he can’t think much on it. He has to keep his head on the fight. He slips into almost a trance as he fights. The dodged blows, the swings, the flick of his wrist; all of it is a dance. As the day progresses it becomes clearer that it’s going to be him and Valliant in the final.

Gwaine watches the final bracket fight. Valliant’s style hasn’t changed any. He’s still all brute strength and little footwork. He’d managed to upstage Gwaine at a tournament once before, but it was after he’d been out of practice for several months after breaking his wrist. He’s been away from knights and tourneys longer than that, but he didn’t fully give up his sword work this time. He thinks he can manage as long as Valliant doesn’t cheat.

Valliant wins the final bracket, and the tourney is called for a break. It’s only late afternoon with so few knights competing. The entry fee was probably raised to compensate.

Gwaine looks around the field for Merlin, but he’s nowhere to be seen. A small twinge of hurt makes itself known in his chest. As silly as it is, he was rather looking forward to showing off to Merlin. He’s always fought better with an audience, and even Merlin’s dry witty commentary would have been welcome. More than welcome actually. He shakes the feeling from his shoulders and goes to the well to get a drink.

The final match is called to start, and Gwaine steps onto the field. Valliant stumbles out of his tent a moment later, blinking in the sunlight. Merlin slips out behind him, and Gwaine frowns. Merlin is a grown man, he can entertain who he likes, but Valliant? Why Valliant? 

Merlin sidles up with a pleased smile. That mischievous glint in his eyes is stronger than ever. He doesn’t look like someone who spent the last several minutes entertaining anyone.

“What did you do?” Gwaine asks softly.

“Levelled the field.” Merlin says, unable to hide the smile that spreads across his face.

Valliant staggers onto the field, eyes unfocused. He moves sluggishly as he raises his sword into a sloppy excuse for a fighting stance. When Gwaine steps closer as he’s meant to, it becomes clear exactly what’s wrong. Valliant is roaring drunk. The smell could knock a horse out. He understands the look on Merlin’s face better now, the little shit.

Valliant blocks Gwaine’s first swing quite admirably for someone who can’t stop blinking sleepily at his opponent. They trade blows back and forth, but Gwaine’s heart isn’t really in it. Valliant is large and, thanks to the mead, slow. Gwaine’s opportunity comes sooner than expected. Valliant misses what should’ve been an easy swing and it leaves him unguarded. Gwaine gets his sword underneath Valliant’s and twist upwards. Valliant’s sword is launched into the air, and Gwaine catches it on the way down. He can’t help but add a little twirl for the crowd’s benefit. 

The lord pronounces Gwaine the winner, and cheers go up around the edges of the tourney field. The loudest whoop of all comes from Merlin as he throws himself into Gwaine’s arms. He sees it coming just in time to drop the swords, and wrap his arms around Merlin’s back, but he is unprepared for the sudden change in weight, and they both tumble to the ground, inches from a rather large mud puddle. They lay there stunned, and then a laugh bursts from Gwaine unguarded.

Merlin props himself up on his elbows, grin the widest Gwaine’s ever seen it, “Sorry. Are you alright?”

Merlin’s body still presses him back into the ground, warm and heavy, but any reasoning for telling Merlin to get off is lost under the blinding force of that grin. Gwaine grins at Merlin, hands finding the skin on his lower back where his tunic has ridden up.

“I’m alright. Told you I would be.”

“You did it.”

“You should have more faith, Merlin.” Gwaine responds. The breathlessness he feels has absolutely nothing to do with the tournament.


	3. Chapter 3

“Gwaine,” Merlin says mildly from where he’s digging through the packs.

“Mm?” Gwaine grunts in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to murder you.”

That catches Gwaine’s attention. For the month or so he’s known Merlin, Merlin has never been prone to threats or dramatics. He’s always trotted on with good cheer, teasing and laughing. They get on, really well come to think of it, and Gwaine is pretty sure you don’t threaten to kill people you get on with.

“What did _I_ do?”

Merlin lifts a bag of rations, and shakes it in Gwaine’s general direction. Gwaine grimaces guiltily. He knows what he did now. Perhaps getting drunk at the tavern last night wasn’t the wisest idea, but they had been running low on money. They’d spent most of their tourney winnings on buying the horses, and Merlin had agreed that Gwaine could try to win back some of the money they’d had to spend. Unfortunately, a perfectly sober man at a gambling table is seen as suspicious so Gwaine had indulged, and clearly more than he meant to.

“We were supposed to make these last, and you ate all of the nuts in one night!” Merlin says indignantly.

“Sorry,” he says with a grin that hopefully eases the exasperated look from Merlin’s face, “I got hungry.”

“I swear, at times you’re worse than—”

“Worse than who?” Gwaine asks, gently.

This has been happening more lately. Merlin starts in on a story or complaint before hurriedly cutting himself off. Gwaine can’t tell if it’s from grief, or something else. Merlin had said, when they met, that he’d lost his best friend in the fight. Perhaps it’s him that Merlin avoids talking about. He wouldn’t have had any time to mourn between being captured, running away, finding Gwaine, and making the trek home. He’s probably avoiding painful memories. 

Gwaine has never been very good at emotions that aren’t light. He is more than capable of swinging an arm around a friend in a tavern while singing bawdy drinking songs, and admitting when he cares for someone. The fact that he hasn’t had many people to care about in his life is only because of his own need not to have his heart ripped out and stamped all over yet again. He thinks he could care for Merlin, however. In a way he already does. Merlin is funny, smart, and good-natured. He’s more amused by Gwaine’s shenanigans than irritated, and that alone should qualify him for sainthood.

This places Gwaine in the awkward position of trying to figure out how best to comfort Merlin in these dark moments. Gwaine’s tactic has always been avoidance, but he’s not sure if you can avoid grief. He vaguely remembers the time after his father died, and the way his mother would try to put on a brave face, but would have to lock herself away at times to sob. Gwaine is concerned what the end of this quest might mean for Merlin, how he’ll handle the grief. He wants Merlin to be okay.

“No one.” Merlin responds softly, “You’re not getting breakfast today. We don’t have time to stop for more rations any time soon so we have to make what we have stretch. No more midnight raids.”

“Yes, Mother.” Gwaine says dutifully.

Merlin’s face scrunches at him, “Do you have any idea how weird it is when you call me mother after you offered to bed me the first time we met?”

Gwaine grins and walks over to check on the horses. He squeezes the back of Merlin’s neck affectionately on his way. Horse duties had fallen to him after it became clear that while Merlin knew the basics of riding, he hadn’t a clue on how to actually care for them. There’s probably three horses for the entire village in Ealdor. It would explain the mismatch in knowledge. 

Gwaine doesn’t mind his new duties as horse whisperer. It gives him something to do while Merlin packs everything to his own mystifying standards, and he’s always liked horses. He’d had to leave his horse behind when he’d left Caerleon’s service, and he misses her sometimes. She’d been a beautiful grey, and he’d taught her to do tricks like the acrobats in travelling circuses. She was really the best part of being a knight. 

They mount up when Merlin finishes his breakfast. Gwaine feels guilt knot heavily in his stomach when he realizes it’s smaller than Merlin usually favors. He never meant to make Merlin’s life harder, but it seems he has anyway. He’s spent so long on his own, so long dashing about getting into trouble to keep up a reputation as a scoundrel, that he sometimes thinks he’s forgotten entirely how to be a friend. He’ll skip lunch too, to make up for it. His head will be spinning by dinner, but he’s gone longer without and it will help stretch the rations.

He reins Astrid in alongside Iris, he’d let Merlin them, and nudges Merlin with his elbow. Merlin looks over at him with an inquisitive tilt to his head.

“Tell me about Ealdor.”

Merlin frowns a little, “Did you hit your head last night? I already told you, we were invaded by King Arthur.”

“No, I mean, tell me about what it was like growing up there.” Gwaine explains.

“Oh,” a little smile spreads across Merlin’s face, “It was nice. I was a bit of an outcast, but they weren’t horrible to me. I had my mother, and our vegetable garden. I met Will when I was a little older, and we were always getting into trouble with each other, but he never ate a day’s worth of trail rations because he got drunk.”

Gwaine groans dramatically, “I already apologized and skipped breakfast. It’s not going to happen again.”

“How do I know? I’ve only just met you.” Merlin says with a teasing glint to his eyes.

Gwaine scowls, “I am a man of honor. Or at least I was. I keep my word.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see won’t we?”

“Were you an outcast because of your big mouth?”

“It may have been a contributing factor,” Merlin says with a dignified sniff, “Besides I thought my mouth was one of the things you liked about me.”

Gwaine sits dumbly in his saddle. He does like Merlin’s mouth, what person wouldn’t? It still seems very uncalled for to bring it up in the middle of a verbal match over rations.

“How do you do that?” Gwaine asks after a bit.

“What?”

“How do you manage to strike a man silent with just a few words?”

“I’ve had practice.” Merlin says vaguely.

“You’re a mystery, Merlin.”

“You are far from the first to tell me that.” Merlin says and ducks under a low hanging branch that is spilling out over the road.

“I do like your mouth.” Gwaine teases when it doesn’t seem like he’ll get a straight answer from Merlin.

“And I like it when we have enough rations.”

Gwaine blames the banter for not noticing the signs. When bandits are prepared to attack, the woods are always quieter than they should be. The prey animals stay away from humans, tuck themselves in burrows and trees so they don’t turn into the hunted. Paying attention to these kinds of details is what has kept Gwaine alive long enough to even be riding with Merlin now, but his chest is so full of this light airy sensation of happiness that he misses it.

The fight is over before it’s begun. Gwaine may be one of the best swordsmen in Albion, but even he can’t take on twenty men all on his own, and if Merlin tried to help he’d just get hurt. He puts up a bit of a token protest, but in the end he is forced to his knees in the mud, arms tied behind his back. 

He glances over at Merlin, expecting him to be nearly catatonic with fear. Instead, his face is heavy with a deep-seated irritation, as though the men currently holding wicked knives to their throats are as much of a setback as a collapsed bridge; not the end of the world but an inconvenience all the same. He looks back at Gwaine with a sigh.

“If you hadn’t eaten the rations then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“It was your whinging about the rations that distracted me.” Gwaine feels compelled to point out.

“If you hadn’t eaten the rations, then I wouldn’t need to whinge.”

Merlin is silenced by a rough shake. A little pained gasp falls from his lips, and he glares at the man who shook him with so much indignation that Gwaine wants to laugh.

It’s like the more time he spends with Merlin, the stranger he becomes. Even if raiders had come to Ealdor for crops, there’s a big difference between huddling in doorways as danger rides by, and facing down someone intending to kill you. Merlin should be more afraid.

“What should we do with them?” the man holding his knife to Gwaine’s throat asks.

Another man, this one with an eyepatch, who must be the leader says, “Go through their things. I’ll take the fighter. If the chatterbox gives you any trouble, kill him.”

Gwaine barely registers that he is going to be separated from Merlin because he’s too busy _watching >/i> Merlin. When the threat is made against his life, Gwaine expects to see the fear creep in, but the crease of Merlin’s eyebrows is there and gone in a flash. He rolls his eyes, fully rolls his eyes, like the bandits are spectacular idiots._

_The leader yanks Gwaine up by his bound arms, and frog-marches Gwaine further into the woods. Gwaine forces himself to stop worrying about Merlin. It won’t do him any good if Gwaine is dead because he was too distracted to find an escape route. Right now, he has to focus on getting away from the man behind him._

_The man releases him some ways away from the initial attack, and circles around to Gwaine’s front. He looks Gwaine over as though considering something, and nods to himself._

_“I’d like to make you an offer.”_

_“Oh,” Gwaine says, trying to feign interest in the conversation while working at the knot binding his hands, “What offer is that?”_

_“Your reputation precedes you, Sir Gwaine. You’re an excellent fighter, and a decent troublemaker. I’d like you to join us.” the man explains, leaning forward conspiratorially, “You can even bring the chatterbox with you if he’s that important.”_

_“His name is Merlin.” Gwaine snaps. A strange protectiveness floods his chest. Merlin may talk, but Gwaine likes it. The conversation flows between them easier than with anyone else Gwaine has ever met. This man doesn’t know a damn thing about just how funny and clever Merlin can be._

_“Be that as it may,” the man says as Gwaine continues mentally defending Merlin’s honor, “he isn’t very useful, but it would be worth the cost of feeding him if it meant you joined us.”_

_“Merlin,” Gwaine says, emphasizing Merlin’s name, “is very useful.”_

_“He can’t fight, a stiff breeze would knock him over, and we already have a cook,” the man says reasonably, “And he doesn’t seem like he’d bow to authority well.”_

_Gwaine has to admit that there might be some truth to that last point, but he continues to dig his heels in. The distraction is working. If he can just get his hands free then he can snatch the knife from the man’s belt._

_“Keep insulting him, see how that turns out for you.” Gwaine growls._

_“You’re very protective of him, I see.” The man says, “That brand of loyalty will serve you well with us.”_

_There. Was that the knot? Gwaine flexes his fingers experimentally._

_“You know what I say?”_

_“What?”_

_“Go to hell.”_

_The impact of his head against the man’s nose sends sparks glittering behind his eyes, but he blinks away the pain. He rips his hands free from the remainder of the rope, regardless of the awful rope burn he’s bound to get. Better rope burn than a slit throat._

_The man staggers back, clutching at his broken nose. Gwaine can see the blood dripping from between the man’s fingers, and Gwaine takes a heartbeat to acknowledge just how disgusting that is. He darts forward just as the man drops his hands. He still wields one knife in his hand, and he takes a wild swing at Gwaine. Gwaine jumps back, narrowly avoiding getting sliced. He dodges a few more swings, dancing away each time it seems like he might get a nick. He waits for his opening, then ducks under the man’s arm and knocks it away. The man drops his knife, and Gwaine kicks it away while yanking the spare from the man’s belt._

_He drives the tip of the blade deep into the man’s chest between his ribs. The man makes a choked off noise, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the handle. A gurgle bubbles in his throat, and Gwaine turns away. He was taught to honor death whenever possible, but he doesn’t have the time. Merlin is still in danger._

_He picks up the dropped knife, and runs. The fight has taken a lot out of him, but he ignores it in favor of getting to Merlin. That’s the most important thing. He has to make sure Merlin is safe._

_Visions of Merlin pale with death flash in front of his eyes. Ealdor is going to remain captured because Gwaine failed to keep the one person who could help him safe. Merlin’s laugh is going to be gone from the world. That grin that creases his face and makes you smile too will no longer light up whatever dark corner of the world Merlin finds himself in. Merlin’s cutting retorts will be lost to time. _Merlin_ will be lost to time._

_Gwaine bursts from the trees, a knife in each hand. An angry cry is on his lips, but he cuts it short. It’s safe to say he wasn’t expecting this. Every bandit that stayed behind is sprawled unconscious on the forest floor. Merlin crouches off to one side, digging through their bags._

_“Merlin?” Gwaine asks uncertainly._

_Merlin looks over his shoulder, and grins that face creasing grin. He holds up a cloth sack triumphantly._

_“I found rations!”_

_“What happened?”_

_Merlin glances around the clearing, observing the bandits. Then he looks back at Gwaine, and shrugs, “I tripped one, and he landed on another. It started rather a nasty brawl, and they all knocked each other out.”_

_“But…” that doesn’t add up. That can’t add up._

_Merlin stands up, and his eyes go wide, “You’re hurt.”_

_Gwaine looks down at his wrists. The rope burn is bad enough that it’s bleeding in some places. He’ll be lucky if it doesn’t scar or get infected. “It was the rope.” He says unnecessarily._

_Merlin picks up one of the bandits bags, and picks his way around the bodies. He reaches Gwaine, and cradles one of Gwaine’s wrists in his hands. He smiles up at Gwaine, and Gwaine feels a rush of warmth despite himself. Merlin must have made a very good physician’s apprentice with bedside manner like this._

_“It’s not too bad.” Merlin promises._

_Gwaine forgets all about his confusion over the fight. He sits quietly on a log as Merlin cleans and dresses his wounds. He eats what Merlin hands him, and tries not to hiss when Merlin applies the slave from the bandit’s pack on the parts where the rope bit in the deepest. He didn’t even hold still this well when he was a knight and was being treated by the court physician. There’s just something about Merlin that puts him at ease._

_“I’m glad you’re alright, Merlin.” He says after a while._

_Merlin’s eyes flicker away, “I’m glad you’re alright too.”_

_Merlin digs a roll of bandages out of the pack, and starts winding them around Gwaine’s wrists._

_“Will this affect my ability to hold a sword?” Gwaine asks, “I know you won’t have time to find someone else to help you.”_

_Merlin’s smile falters, but he hitches it back in place. Gwaine braces himself for the worst._

_“You’ll be fine,” Merlin promises, “We still have at least two weeks before we reach Ealdor. You’ll be through the worst of it by then.”_

_Then why did it look like Merlin was devastated? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about Merlin makes sense._

_God Gwaine is exhausted. It’s like he can feel the adrenaline physically ebbing away, and his wrists ache. He sags forward a bit, bracing his elbows on his knees. He grins tiredly at Merlin._

_“I’m sorry.” Merlin blurts, looking stricken. He’s never seen Merlin stricken before, and he never wants to see it again if he can._

_Gwaine, overcome by that same overwhelming sense of protectiveness that he hasn’t felt since Sophia left, cradles Merlin’s cheek in one hand. Merlin shouldn’t blame himself. As much as they’ve grown used to teasing each other and blaming each other for even minor misfortunes, this is not something Merlin should take on his shoulders. Bandits happen. The important thing is that they both got out of it relatively unscathed._

_“It’s not your fault, Merlin.” He strokes Merlin’s cheek with his thumb, and Merlin tilts his head into the pressure. It seems to soothe him a bit, but guilt still rides heavy on his shoulders._

_“You’re only out here because of me. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this mess.”_

_Gwaine shakes his head, “It’s worth it. You’re my friend.”_

_Merlin falls silent at that, but a moment later Gwaine feels a hand on his knee. Merlin’s boney fingers give it a squeeze, and then remain there as Gwaine gathers his strength. It is warm, and surprisingly heavy, and it grounds Gwaine as the last of the fear burns its way through his system. He thinks that’s Merlin’s way of agreeing._


	4. Chapter 4

The fire crackles cheerily, and illuminates their makeshift campsite in a welcoming orange glow. Around them, they can hear the sounds of the night life of the forest stirring awake. There’s a rustle of leaves here, soft squeaking there. It’s strangely peaceful in their little bubble of light, like nothing, not even time, can touch them.

Merlin is pressed up against him on one side, and with the fire it’s almost too warm, but Gwaine can’t bring himself to complain. Having Merlin solidly there, where Gwaine can see and feel him, is a comfort. They were both badly shaken by the bandit attack. Merlin is the worst off out of the two of them, though. He hasn’t spoken since they started back on the road, instead riding next to Gwaine in complete silence, and going about camp like a ghost. Any attempt at drawing him out of his shell has resulted in Merlin simply flashing a fake grin and declaring that he’s fine.

Gwaine decides to let him work through it on his own. He can’t make Merlin talk to him, and he doesn’t even know what he would say if Merlin was talking to him. He can’t comprehend why Merlin feels so guilty about this when he was the reason they were able to escape. The rope burns around Gwaine’s wrists have already started to pain him less, healing with every passing moment. He’ll be back to wielding a sword in no time.

There’s another reason he doesn’t want to force Merlin to talk to him if he’s being totally honest with himself. Merlin lied. After the battle, before he tended to Gwaine’s wounds, he lied. Not even the most idiotic of bandits are going to fall for the tripping trick. At least no bandits outside of a fairytale. Merlin must have done something else to knock them down and tie them up, and Gwaine doesn’t want to think about it too closely. Merlin is clearly a good man, and Gwaine doesn’t want to suffer any doubts about him before they finish business in Ealdor.

The question still nags at him. He supposes Merlin could have used some of their winnings to bribe someone to free them, and if he got very lucky he could potentially give them all knocks on the head with a lump of wood. He’d have to be quick on his feet, but Gwaine has seen him run and that isn’t as ridiculous a supposition as some might think just looking at him. He just wishes he could confirm the story, but after his tendency to gamble away their money and eat their food, Merlin has taken over spending their money. 

It doesn’t bother Gwaine usually, he knows that they’re both just playing up their roles for amusement’s sake. Merlin isn’t nearly as responsible and upright as he likes to pretend, the incident with Valliant is proof enough of that, and Gwaine isn’t as irresponsible as he seems either. The thing is, even though he knows Merlin would be more than willing to open the purse and let Gwaine take a look at their financials, Gwaine hasn’t kept track of their spending.

His other option is to simply ask what happened, but if Merlin lied he must have a very good reason. Gwaine doesn’t want to break this fragile new friendship with mistrust or demands. He has to hope that in time, Merlin will come to him. Gwaine has never been a patient man, but for Merlin he will do his best.

Merlin stirs the fire a bit with a spare piece of wood, and sparks leap into the dark expanse of the sky just visible through the trees. Merlin watches them with an almost wistful expression on his face, and Gwaine watches Merlin watch the sparks. Merlin reminds him a bit of a spark; bright, quick, hidden potential. He thinks that’s perhaps why he agreed to stay this long despite the setbacks they keep dealing with. Of course he wants to rescue Sofia, of course he wants to stick it to Arthur, but there’s easier ways to do that than storming into an occupied village and throwing down a gauntlet. But Merlin needed to free Ealdor, and he gives Gwaine’s own legendary stubbornness a run for its money. Is it any wonder that he was drawn in?

Merlin reaches forward to poke at the rabbit Gwaine caught earlier, and bumps Gwaine’s wrist with his elbow as he goes. It sends a burning pain racing up Gwaine’s arm, and he sucks in a hiss of air at the unexpected sensation.

Merlin turns guilty eyes to him, and Gwaine smiles as warmly as he can as the pain recedes, “It’s not your fault.”

“I feel responsible,” Merlin says softly, “I knew we might get hurt in Ealdor, but I didn’t expect you to get hurt on the way there.”

Gwaine melts. He could never conceive of mistrusting Merlin. A man who takes on the weight of someone else’s injuries because they happened to be working together, could never be someone who holds ill intent in his heart. Gwaine lifts the arm that Merlin bumped, and ruffles his hair affectionately.

“People can get hurt anytime anywhere. That’s not something you can control any more than you can control the weather.” Gwaine promises him and tries an amused grin, “Besides, if you hadn’t come to pick me up form that tavern in Caerleon I might have drunk myself to death by now, or been murdered by angry gamblers.”

Merlin cracks one of those sunshine grins, and lets out a little snort of laughter, “You weren’t terribly popular then?”

“People get sick of me.” Gwaine says with a shrug. Normally that comment would rankle him, no matter how hard he pretended otherwise, but he’s so relieved to have Merlin laughing and smiling with him again, that it doesn’t matter. He will make fun of himself over and over to keep Merlin smiling. Merlin’s face suits sadness well, and Gwaine hates being reminded of that.

“I don’t.” Merlin says, face going serious once more. 

“Give it time.” 

“You liven the place up.” Merlin insists, and bumps his shoulder against Gwaine’s.

Gwaine believes him. Merlin may be a mystery, but he’s never offered Gwaine a false opinion. If Merlin tells you what he thinks, you can count on it to be the truth. Maybe when he gets Sophia safely back to Caerleon with him, he can find a place for Merlin. There’s no way Caerleon’s army will accept him in after his last year of absence, but he never really wanted to be a knight to begin with. Maybe he and Sophia could buy a tavern, or an inn. He and Merlin could work there every day, teasing each other and breaking up bar fights, and in the evening he could have dinner with Sophia and take her to their bed.

It’s a nice thought. If they all survive Ealdor, it may be a possibility. He might miss the road, but it also might be nice to settle down for a while. He’d been prepared to do it before for Sophia, and he is willing to do it again if it makes her happy.

Merlin fishes the fully cooked pieces of rabbit from the flames and deposits them in one of the bowls they brought with them. They eat together in companionable silence, listening to the night around them.

“I think you should be careful of Sophia.” Merlin says out of the blue.

“What on earth would make you say that?” Gwaine asks, startled enough he almost slips off his end of the log he’s sitting on.

Merlin’s mouth twists like he’s thinking of how best to break news to Gwaine, “She abandoned you once, what’s to say she won’t do it again?”

Gwaine breathes a little sigh of relief and shakes his head, “You said yourself that she was apologizing every night. Surely she’s learned her lesson about not running off the second she spots someone wealthier.”

“Maybe, but if she knows that she can keep running off to someone else and have you come storming in to save her every time it goes wrong, then she’ll just keep doing it,” Merlin insists, “She’ll end up using you. You deserve better than to be used in someone else’s game.”

There’s something in Merlin’s tone. It almost sounds as though he’s speaking from experience, and Gwaine wants to meet them, whoever it is that used Merlin, for a chat. If said chat ends with Gwaine’s fist in that person’s face, then so be it. As sorry as Gwaine is that Merlin was used in someone’s game, he resents the implication that Sophia could be that cruel, and come to think of it this isn’t the first time that Merlin’s made a slight against Sophia’s person. Gwaine remembers on one of their earliest nights together that Merlin had said Sophia didn’t deserve him. It irritates him that Merlin keeps making these judgements despite having never met her. Sophia might not be a saint, but she’s hardly the devil either.

“What have you got against Sophia?” Gwaine demands, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended.

Merlin regards him with an irritated glare, “It’s not against her. I just know that that’s how some women operate, and she might be one of them. If you got hurt because I brought the two of you back together…” he trails off and looks away.

“You worry too much,” Gwaine promises, “Arthur has been mistreating her, and after that kind of pain she may not even want to get back together.”

“But you’re riding out to save her anyway.” 

“She deserves to be rescued even if she can no longer love me, but if there’s even the slightest chance she may love me I don’t want to give it up because I’m too stubborn to forgive her. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Merlin hides his strange smile in the duck of his head. Gwaine hasn’t seen this smile before, and it’s disconcerting after feeling like he could read Merlin easily for so long. 

“You sounded like a knight, just then.” Merlin says, and Gwaine realizes that this is Merlin being proud.

It’s been a long time since anyone was proud of him. He thinks, maybe, that his father was once. His mother was pleased when he joined Caerleon’s army, but he wouldn’t call her proud. Now here Merlin is, grinning at him and implying that he is a noble man not because of birth, but because of his actions. It draws a surprised chuckle from him, and he kicks at Merlin’s ankle playfully.

Another silence ensues, but it doesn’t hold the promise of conversation like the first one did. Merlin has said his piece, and is apparently content to leave it as is. Gwaine is touched that Merlin seems to care for him this much after such a short time together. How he survived in this world with such a soft heart is another part of the mystery that makes him up. 

Their easy silence is interrupted by an awful screech. It sounds like rusty hinges, and a scared horse, and it makes Merlin sit bolt upright. He gazes warily at the dark forest around them, like he can see the source of the noise if only he looks hard enough. He slides an uncertain look to Gwaine.

“What was that?”

Gwaine blurts the first thing that comes to mind, “A pheasant.”

Merlin’s eyebrows flick upwards, and a little smile quirks the corner of his mouth, “A pheasant?” he asks, amused and disbelieving.

“A very large pheasant.” Gwaine hedges, and Merlin lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head.

“You know, Sophia is lucky to have you.” Merlin says as he sets aside his empty bowl.

”How so?” Gwaine asks, and shoves the last of dinner into his mouth.

“You’re going after her even though she broke your heart, because it is the right thing to do. You may come off as a drunk and a rake, but you’re not and she’s lucky to have your loyalty.” Merlin says as he starts laying out his bedroll.

Gwaine sets aside his own empty bowl, and moves to do the same, “That isn’t the only reason I’m doing this.”

“No?” Merlin asks curiously as he stretches out next to the fire.

“No,” Gwaine explains as he lays his bedroll out next to Merlin’s, “I’m also doing it to spite Arthur.”

Merlin’s laughter bubbles out of him, and his face once more spreads into that sunshine grin. It’s Gwaine’s favorite look on him, he shrugs the entire world from his shoulders whenever he laughs. It draws a laugh from Gwaine too, even more contagious than yawning.

“I should have known.” Merlin says after he gets his breath back.

Gwaine smiles softly at him, feeling oddly content despite the rocky start to the night, “I’m also doing it to help a friend.”

Merlin turns his head on his sleeping roll, and his grin softens in favor of a gently assessing look. He snakes one slim arm from under his blanket, and squeezes Gwaine’s shoulder. The light of the fire backlights him, making it difficult to see his face, but Gwaine thinks it might be the same expression from the sparks; wistful and a bit sad.

“I’m lucky too.”

Another screech rends the night air, and Merlin props himself up on his elbows with a concerned frown. That screech is followed by two more screeches, and he looks back at Gwaine with an amused tilt of his mouth.

“That sounded like three pheasants.”

Gwaine chuckles, and tucks one arm under his head, “Think we might need to keep watch.”

“I’ll take the first shift. I’m already sitting up, and you need more rest than I do if those wrists are going to heal in time for you to do a grand battle against King Arthur in a couple weeks.”

“You just don’t like being woken up in the middle of the night to take your shift.” Gwaine accuses.

Merlin pulls a face that is probably designed to make him look innocent, but could not more clearly be an indicator of the truth, “I would never make you take the dawn shift if you truly didn’t want it.”

“Uh huh.” Gwaine says, “And I suppose you won’t give me puppy eyes in the morning to make you breakfast in bed?”

“We don’t have beds.”

“Breakfast in bedroll.”

“Oh just go to sleep.” Merlin snaps, but there’s no heat to it.

Gwaine chuckles again and settles on his side with his back facing towards Merlin. He would prefer to keep Merlin in sight, but he’s never been able to sleep facing a fire, and Merlin always insists on putting himself as close to the fire as he can without actually setting himself on fire. Spring nights can be chilly, but Gwaine silently deems it a bit ridiculous that Merlin always seems to be cold.

In the end, it’s just another one of Merlin’s quirks. He wouldn’t be Merlin without them.

Gwaine wakes the next morning instead of in the middle of the night, and his heart leaps into his throat. He clasps the pommel of his sword, and sits up, looking around wildly. Merlin was meant to wake him in time for dawn shift, but clearly didn’t. Gwaine has visions of those bandits coming back for revenge against Merlin, or Merlin being carried off by pheasants. For one terrifying moment, Gwaine thinks that despite their luck at escaping from the bandits, he’s failed Merlin anyway.

His eyes land on Merlin, and the panic clutching his heart fades away. Merlin is propped up against a tree toward the edge of their camp, probably just within the circle of light their fire cast. He has a blanket tucked up under his chin, and his head is tilted to one side. His breaths are deep and even, the sound of someone deep asleep. 

Gwaine watches him for a moment, just taking in Merlin’s dark untidy hair, the lack of cheek that comes so naturally to him in his waking hours. Sleep softens him like it does for everyone, but there’s something more to it than that. He looks content, and a bit younger like this. Carrying the weight of Ealdor must wear on him near daily, and Gwaine can’t wait until the two of them remove that weight. It won’t take them long to reach Ealdor now, and then they’ll ride in like avenging angels, and sweep away Arthur’s forces.

Avenging angels might be too generous a description given the way the tournament went down. A couple of lucky bastards might be more accurate. Point is, soon Arthur will be no more.

He shakes himself loose from the tangle of his blanket, and crosses the campsite to Merlin. He doesn’t want to wake him, he probably could use the sleep, but there’s no reason to delay if they’ve both gotten a decent amount of it. The sooner they get to Ealdor, the sooner all of this can be put to rest, and the sooner they can get proper rest and not fitful naps where they can get it.

He takes Merlin’s shoulder in a gentle grip, shakes it firmly, and calls out Merlin’s names in a low voice. Merlin’s eyes blink open almost immediately, and he scrubs a hand over his face, looking a bit confused. 

“I forgot to wake you last night.” He says unnecessarily.

Gwaine chuckles, and ruffles Merlin’s already messy hair. He’s not sure when Merlin’s hair became such a fixation for him, but he can’t bring himself to stop touching it. Thankfully Merlin doesn’t seem to mind, otherwise they would be in quite the pickle. Merlin grumbles and bats away Gwaine’s hand as he sits up properly. The blanket pools in his lap, and Merlin glares at it like it’s personally offended him. Clearly he’s still not fully awake.

“It’s okay. Clearly the pheasants didn’t get us.” Gwaine responds, “Get up and I’ll get breakfast started.”


	5. Chapter 5

Torch light flickers through the trees, and if Gwaine squints he can just make out the collection of humble homes that make up the village of Ealdor. Guards patrol the edges of it, armor glinting in the torch light. All is silent except for the usual sounds of night animals, and the gentle thud of boots on grass as the guards pass. 

Gwaine slinks back through the trees to where he left Merlin. When he gets there, Merlin has a small fire going. It isn’t large enough to cook on, but it does provide some light for Gwaine to see by. He sinks down next to Merlin on the log, and dusts the dirt from his hands.

“They have guard patrols.” Gwaine says lowly, “They circle round every ten minutes or so.”

Merlin nods, “Must have increased since I left.”

“I think our best bet is to wait until the guards’ backs are turned, then slip in behind them.” Gwaine advises.

“This is a bad idea.” Merlin says with a shake of his head, “There’s no way we can defeat Arthur in a fight. I should have thought this through."

“We aren’t planning on fighting him.”

“We aren’t going to be any better off trying to assassinate him. He’s a king, Gwaine, he’s been prepared for an assassination attempt since birth. He’s going to be heavily guarded, and there’s no way we can fight through his guards without waking all of Ealdor.”

“I thought of that,” Gwaine says with a grin, and fishes the bundle of herbs out of his pack, “Bought this while you were stocking up on rations. All we have to do is burn it, and the smoke will knock out the guards.”

Merlin’s eyebrows lift with surprise, and he looks at Gwaine with wide eyes, “You thought this through.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not just the guy who eats the rations.”

Merlin laughs a little, and glances away, “What happens after we get passed the guards?”

“With any luck Arthur will be knocked out cold too, then all we have to do is well…” Gwaine makes a stabbing motion with his right hand, “Then we take his keys, take Sophia, and free everyone in Ealdor from their homes.”

“Won’t the village guards notice us if we start setting people free?”

“Merlin,” Gwaine says with a frown, “Why are you suddenly so against saving the village you begged me to save not two months ago?”

“I’m not against it!” Merlin says indignantly, “I just think we get one shot at freeing them, we should think it through properly.”

“Do you trust me?” Gwaine asks softly, finding the answer more important than he ever thought possible.

Merlin softens, and he squeezes Gwaine’s knee, “Of course I trust you.”

“Then trust me to do this. I have come out of scraps worse than this without a hair out of place.” 

“Alright.” Merlin relents, “What do you need me to do?”

“Tell me where Arthur is staying.”

Merlin picks up a nearby stick, and scratches a square into the dirt next to their fire. He fills that square with smaller ones, and Gwaine realizes Merlin is drawing a map of Ealdor. Merlin circles one of the squares near the center, and sits back.

“He’s staying here. It’s meant to be the home for the alderman, but we haven’t established a new one since the old one died when I was a child,” Merlin explains, “The back door doesn’t latch properly, and it takes you in through the kitchen. I think we should enter there.”

“How do you know the back door doesn’t latch?”

Merlin goes a little sheepish, “Will and I were the bane of Old Man Simmons’ existence. We used that same latch to let a goat into his kitchen.”

“Then that’s our entry.” Gwaine agrees.

“Assuming your harebrained scheme works, we don’t need to worry about unlocking anything on this side of the village,” Merlin draws a big x through the buildings to the east of the alderman’s home, “It’s all storage, barns, or houses that got abandoned after the last attack by Kanen.”

“Kanen?”

“Warlord who liked to steal our crops.”

“Well, as abhorrent as that practice is, I like the idea of Arthur having to keep a hungry warlord at bay while going on a wild goose hunt to find a magical artifact that may not exist.”

“Arthur won’t have dealt with Kanen.” Merlin says darkly.

“No? Why not?”

“Kanen’s last raid was his last raid.”

Gwaine falls silent at that. He still doesn’t know much about Merlin, but the more he knows, the more confused he gets. He’s heard that tone of voice before. It’s always been from men with a vendetta, ones who vowed revenge on those who had wronged him and then completed that quest. Merlin can’t be older than twenty-five, far too young to have such a voice. Although if Merlin had a hand in killing Kanen, it does explain why he was able to unseat a few measly bandits.

“We better get a move on,” Gwaine says at length, “we don’t want to waste this cover.”

Merlin stands silently and stamps out the fire. Together, they shuffle through the tress by the light of the moon and the faint torchlight coming to them from Ealdor. Merlin moves with surprising grace, never catching a foot on a root or hitting his head on a branch. It must be nice knowing someplace so well that it becomes navigable in the dark. They creep up to the edge of the forest, and lie in wait.

The two guards Gwaine saw before appear to the east, and he and Merlin draw back so as not to be spotted. The two guards pass without noticing them, and Gwaine nods his head to indicate that Merlin should follow him. They stick to the shadows, moving silently and easily around the edges of the buildings that are locked up tight. They reach the Alderman’s house without incident, and Merlin steps forward to wiggle the latch loose.

Gwaine can easily a young mischievous Merlin and another young faceless boy sneaking up just like this. How they managed to keep the goat involved silent is questionable, but maybe Old Man Simmons was hard of hearing. It’s a strange sort of déjà vu considering Gwaine wasn’t even there.

The door swings open, and Gwaine steps in first, sword at the ready. No attack comes so he stands aside to let Merlin in after him, and Merlin closes the door behind them both. Once it’s latched, Gwaine drops his voice low.

“Which way to the bedroom?” he asks.

“I think you’ll find my bedroom rather difficult to get to.” A familiar drawl says, and a torch springs to life.

In front of them stands none other than Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. He doesn’t seem surprised to see them, quite the opposite really. He is dressed in proper day clothes, and a sword hangs at his side. A curly haired knight stands just behind Arthur’s right shoulder, and a guard stands to the left. Arthur’s golden hair glints in the torchlight, and his grin is thrown into shadow. There’s something different that Gwaine can’t seem to put his finger on at first, but when Arthur shifts his weight, the torchlight glints off Arthur’s eyes, and Gwaine realizes. Arthur’s eyes have haunted his dreams for the last year; cruel, mocking, and very, very blue. Now, they are a deep glowing red.

“Well done, Merlin”, Arthur says, “Glad to know you’re useful for something after all.” 

Gwaine’s heart drops into his boots, and he rounds on Merlin, hoping desperately for the implication to be a lie. It’s not a lie. Gwaine can read it in every line of Merlin’s body; the hung head, the slumped shoulders, the balled fists. Merlin betrayed him.

A lot of things suddenly make sense now. Merlin’s insistence that Gwaine deserved better, and didn’t deserve to be involved as a chess piece in someone else’s game. The guilt he felt over Gwaine getting injured in their fight against the bandits is put into a new a perspective. The reluctance to enter Ealdor just now, and his certainty that they couldn’t fight Arthur. Why Merlin knew the knights grip when they first met, and how he knew Gwaine’s chainmail was on backwards. His mind turns to Sophia then, and his already sinking heart cracks in two.

“Sophia didn’t want to see me, did she?” he asks, voice deceptively calm.

Merlin looks at him from under his eyelashes, damp with unshed tears, “I’m sorry.”

“Sophia speaks of you often,” Arthur says as he comes down the stairs, “I thought if I couldn’t give her the pleasure of finding Emrys, then I may as well give her the pleasure of seeing your head removed from your body.”

Gwaine ignores him in favor of glaring at Merlin, even as his own arms are wrenched behind him, “Why would you do this?”

“Didn’t Merlin tell you?” Arthur asks with far too much enjoyment as the guard wrenches Merlin’s arms back, “He’s been my manservant for three years.”

Gwaine’s heart doesn’t so much break, as shatter into a million pieces. The betrayal is all the more personal now, and it hurts even more than the knowledge that Sophia didn’t want him. He’d trusted Merlin, come to think of him as a friend, planned for a future with him in it, and it was all based on the lies of a man whose loyalty lay with the very person who destroyed Gwaine’s happiness.

“Gwaine…” Merlin says in a soft desperate voice, and Gwaine turns his head away sharply, unable to even look at him.

“Take them to the dungeons, Gwaine will be executed at dawn. Your mother has missed you, Merlin.” Arthur adds with a vicious smirk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine can see Merlin flinch like he’s been struck. He hardens his heart against it. He was a fool to let anyone else in like he did with Sophia.

The curly haired knight takes Gwaine’s sword, and passes it off to Arthur, who gives one last smug smirk and heads back up the stairs to the bedroom. The guard and the curly haired knight force them to walk. They leave the alderman’s house, and walk to the east side of the village Merlin indicated was mostly abandoned. The guard removes one hand from Merlin, unlocks a stone building with some high silted windows, and both of them are shoved unceremoniously inside. The door to the building is slammed shut behind them, and the key turns heavily in the lock. As Gwaine looks around, he thinks this must have once been a room for smoking the meat for the village. It makes an annoyingly excellent prison.

“Mother!” Merlin shouts, and scrambles across the dirt floor into the arms of an older woman that Gwaine has just noticed.

She pulls Merlin into a tight hug, burying one hand in Merlin’s hair and murmuring, “Oh, my son.”

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks with a note of desperation as he pulls back to examine her properly, “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. I have been fed, and they haven’t hurt me.” Merlin’s mother reassures, “Don’t worry about me, worry about your friend. He looks angry enough to tear this place down with his bare hands.”

Merlin lets go of his mother and turns to Gwaine, face crinkled with devastation, “Please, Gwaine, I’m so sorry.”

“Save it, Merlin.”

“I can explain if you let me.”

“You knew,” Gwaine hisses with an anger he didn’t even know he had, “You knew how hurt I got, and you still betrayed me. You could have told me that Arthur was coming after me, and that it was the only way to save your mother and village. Instead you let me believe we were friends, you let me care about you, and you threw it all back at me.”

“That’s not… I... Gwaine, I swear it isn’t like that. I do care.” Merlin says, stumbling over his own words. 

Gwaine turns away again, glaring at the locked door, “I don’t want to hear it.”

Merlin audibly sucks in air, and must be getting prepared to argue, when the door swings open again. A couple of guards step through, and one is carrying a sack. Arthur has chosen to move up his timeline then. Funny, Arthur never struck him as one to cover the heads of men sent to execution, he seemed like the type to enjoy a spectacle.

One guard once more wrenches Gwaine’s arms behind his back, and the other yanks the bag down over his head. He hears Merlin shout his name, and then the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Merlin must have charged one of the guards and been struck down for it. As angry as Gwaine is, his instinct to protect Gwaine shouts, and he struggles against the iron grip around his wrists. His efforts are for naught, and he is once more marched into the village.

He stumbles as the toes of his boots catch on a set of stairs. For a sickening moment, he thinks he’s going to be burned at the stake, and is being marched up the stairs to the platform, but he can see firelight filtering through the weave of the sack over his head. No one lights the fire before the guilty party is lashed to the stake, and he can hear the sound of another door being opened. They are never burned indoors.

He’s forced into an uncomfortable chair, and his arms get lashed to it. Then the sack is whipped off his head, leaving him blinking into the light cast by a fireplace. Across a fully set table sits Sophia. Her head is tilted invitingly, and her cheeks are pink with health. Not being mistreated then, another lie.

“Oh. I’ve missed you, Aine.” She says in that little singsong voice of hers, “I like the power, but you really were a delight to be with.”

Her eyes are blue, but they somehow don’t seem as brilliant as he remembers. Merlin’s eyes are far bluer, and they certainly have never looked this dead.

“What’s going on Sophia?” he growls, and thrashes against his bindings.

Sophia glides forward, and drags a hand through his hair like she used to when she still loved him, “Arthur has outlived his usefulness. He can’t find me Emrys, and you being here is an excellent opportunity for me.”

Gwaine jerks his head back when she tries to stroke his lips with the tip of her finger, “Opportunity how?”

“Don’t be so difficult, love,” she coos, “I mean that I can have my cake and eat it too. I want you to help me kill Arthur. Then the two of us can rule Camelot together; me as queen, you as my consort.”

“I don’t want to rule.”

Sophia smiles serenely then, and says, “Yes you do.”

Something strange happens then. His mind starts to go fuzzy at the edges just as it always did before when she smiled, and then a glittering gold light wraps around the fuzziness, preventing it from advancing. His mind is filled with images of Merlin; Merlin smiling, Merlin exasperated, Merlin gazing up at him after the bandit attack. And then he sees it. Sophia’s eyes flash that same glowing red that Arthur’s did.

Gwaine frowns at her as the golden light fades from his mind, “Have your eyes always done that?”

Sophia’s face twists in rage, and she releases him as though she’s been holding a cowpat instead of a man she used to cradle lovingly, “You fell in love!” she shrieks.

Gwaine wonders how he ever found her beautiful. It’s like a veil has been lifted, and the loving young woman he remembers so vividly from a year ago is gone. In her stead stands something else, something twisted, blue, and pointy.

“How could you fall in love!” she shrieks again, “I left you heartbroken! You should never have been able to love again!”

Gwaine wonders who he was meant to have fallen in love with, and the images provided by the golden light flash through his mind once more. Well, that certainly explains some things.

“I think you overestimate your ability, Sophia.” Gwaine says, and smirks as it sends her flying into another rage.

It takes her several minutes to calm herself enough to look at him. She sneers, and she tilts her chin up imperiously, “Never send man to do it when you can do it yourself. I was rather hoping you would join me at my side, Gwaine. I did have rather a lot of fun with you, but I can rule without you or Arthur. Guards!”

Two guards appear in the doorway, and Gwaine cranes his neck around to look at them, and sure enough they have the telltale glowing red eyes. They must be enchanted too.

“Take him away.” She says darkly.

Gwaine is escorted with far less care back to his prison than he was escorted to Sophia’s chambers. He’s thrown inside once more, and this time he isn’t able to keep his balance and he goes crashing to his knees. Steady hands land on his shoulders, and when he looks up, Merlin peers down at him. One of his eyes is already starting to swell from where the guard hit him earlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Merlin asks softly, “Did they hurt you?”

The last of Gwaine’s anger fades. He’d decided to trust Merlin some weeks back, he has to trust that Merlin has a good reason for this mess. Gwaine shifts back on his heels, and lets Merlin guide him to lean against one of the walls. Merlin remains crouched in front of him, searching for injuries.

“They didn’t hurt me. It was Sophia.” Gwaine says.

“What did she want?” 

“She wanted me to kill Arthur and rule Camelot with her.” 

Merlin bites his lip, clearly trying not to laugh, “Rejected her, then?”

“Told her she overestimated her power.” Gwaine says with a grin, and clasps Merlin’s elbow, “I’m sorry, old friend. I was so angry, I should have listened to your explanation.”

Merlin sighs and settles in next to him, dragging a hand through his hair. Merlin’s mother excuses herself from them as best she can, given that they are in a one room building, and Gwaine appreciates the attempt at privacy. She sends the two of them a small, sad smile, and settles onto a straw pallet in the corner.

“I’ve worked for Arthur for three years, almost four after all this.” Merlin starts.

“So you knew each other well?” 

“He was my best friend after Will died,” Merlin answers, “Arthur knew him too, actually, but only for a little while. The last raid Kanen did, Arthur rode out to help protect us because I asked. We took Kanen down together. Will died protecting a secret that could get me killed.”

Gwaine remembers now, Merlin saying that his best friend died saving his life.

“About a year ago, Arthur went on a diplomatic visit to Caerleon to smooth things over. I couldn’t go because I was helping Gaius, the court physician, with an outbreak of an illness in the lower town. When he returned home, he had Sophia in tow, and they got married within the week.

“I never liked her, there was just something about her that didn’t feel right. Her effect on Arthur was even stranger. He’d only recently relegalized magic in Camelot, and suddenly he became obsessed with finding Emrys. No matter how many times I tried to convince him to abandon the quest, he insisted he needed to prove his love to Sophia.

“Three months after that, I got a letter from my mother asking for help. The same sickness that hit the lower town had made its way to Ealdor, so I left to help. I sent letters home to Arthur, but never heard back from him. I was desperate to get back to him because I knew something was wrong, but the night before I was meant to leave, he showed up. He claimed that Sophia had been tracking magical energy, and the two of them started tearing Ealdor apart looking for Emrys.

“She used you against him. That’s why Arthur wanted me to track you down. He thought if he could kill you, he could prove to her that he was stronger than she gave him credit for. He locked up my mother, and told me that if there was any deviation in the plan, he would kill her. That’s why I never told you the true reason I sought you out.

“I’m so sorry, Gwaine. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Gwaine wraps his arm around Merlin’s shoulder, and tugs him close. He presses a kiss to the crown of Merlin’s head and nods.

“I know, Merlin. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Apparently the term Alderman comes from Old English Ealdorman. What a coincidence, eh?


	6. Chapter 6

The smoke house is cold, as is the expected downside to solid stone and little light. It is preferable to having the sun beat relentlessly down on your head, but that is about the only thing that it has going for it. He keeps Merlin close to him, tucked under one arm while Merlin holds his mother’s hand. Gwaine knows he should move, should give them some time together after all this time apart, but Sophia has already tried to separate them once, and Gwaine doesn’t want that to happen again. Just as at the beginning of this journey, his mission is to help Merlin. That means keeping him safe. 

For Merlin’s part, he doesn’t seem inclined to leave Gwaine’s embrace. He keeps his head tucked into Gwaine’s shoulder, unmoving. He’s so still in his sleep that Gwaine would think he was dead if he didn’t see the consistent rise and fall of Merlin’s chest for himself. There’s a smudge of dirt along one of Merlin’s cheekbones, and Gwaine thumbs at it gently. He is careful to avoid the black eye that sits starkly against Merlin’s pale skin. Merlin threw himself into danger to try to keep Gwaine from being dragged into the unknown, and if he hadn’t already forgiven Merlin for the impossible situation he was put in, that would do it. He has Merlin’s loyalty, and Gwaine has a feeling that it is not something easily come by.

Merlin shivers a little in the cold, having given his mother his own worn jacket to keep her warm. Gwaine shifts Merlin up, and sits away from the wall, trying to wiggle his arm free of his own jacket without waking Merlin. It doesn’t work. Merlin stirs, and blinks at him with those blue, blue eyes.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, mindful of his mother right next to him.

“You were cold, I was going to give you my jacket.” Gwaine whispers back.

Merlin smiles a little, and it’s the first time Gwaine has seen it since coming to Ealdor. Funny that he should notice the lack of a smile, he can barely remember if Sophia even had a proper smile that wasn’t the sickeningly sweet one she showed when he was alone with her last night. Some of the mystery of Merlin has been sorted, but he’s still a walking source of confusion. Gwaine would follow that anywhere.

“I’m not cold.” Merlin promises, “You should get some sleep. I’ll take watch.”

Gwaine shifts again as Merlin sits up, and strips out of his jacket anyway. He grins as he hands it over, “Person on watch should be comfortable. Besides, it can be your turn to keep me warm.”

Merlin shakes his head, smile growing to wrinkle the corners of his eyes, “Only you could be trapped in a smoke house with a traitor and his mother, and still find time to flirt.”

“It’s a gift.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows, but he refrains from comment. Merlin shrugs into Gwaine’s jacket, and resettles himself to be sitting against the wall. Gwaine takes the opportunity to tuck his arms around Merlin’s waist like he’s a child’s toy, and buries his face in Merlin’s neck. He may be trapped at the moment, surrounded by an unpredictable enemy, but he’s never felt safer.

Little streaks of sunlight begin to filter through the high slits, throwing the place in a grey glow. Gwaine takes the opportunity to examine it in some proper light. All the stonework seems solidly intact, no crumbling or loose joins to be exploited. There’s only one door out, and even if Gwaine could break it down, there’s got to be a guard waiting on the other side. They are well and truly trapped.

He closes his eyes. Merlin is right, he does need some sleep. He won’t be of any use to Merlin and Merlin’s Mother if he’s too weary to fight his way out for them. He isn’t sure if the execution is still moving forward, but being marched out for it will be his only shot at fighting for his freedom. He needs his wits about him when he does. There’s also something comforting about feeling the rise and fall of Merlin’s chest for himself. As long as there is air in Merlin’s lungs, Gwaine will fight for him.

He wonders if he let Merlin off too easily for the lies between them, worries that he’s throwing his loyalty in with the wrong person. Merlin is clearly a gifted liar. Although looking back, Merlin wasn’t so much a gifted liar, as gifted with the ability to make you forget that he ever told a lie to begin with. He just side stepped the disbelief, and the concern is there. He has to force himself to remember all the times that Merlin tried to dissuade him from coming; the guilt over Gwaine’s injuries, his warnings about Sophia. Any advanced warning could have gotten Merlin’s Mother killed, and still Merlin tried to find a way to be honest.

Gwaine trusts him. His gut instincts have never steered him wrong before, and he doubts they have now. Merlin is a brave, if devious, young man. Gwaine will just have to pray that Merlin’s deviousness won’t be used against him again.

“Your beard tickles.” Merlin whispers just as Gwaine is dropping off to sleep, and Gwaine chuckles.

He presses his beard more firmly into the skin of Merlin’s neck and rubs, just to see Merlin try to squirm away. Maybe not the most mature response to facing imminent death, but hey. Gallows Humor. When his squirming fails because he doesn’t want to wake his mother, Merlin frees his arm that was being pinned to Gwaine’s chest, and he uses it to smack Gwaine on the shoulder to try to get him to stop. Gwaine snorts loudly, trying to muffle the noise in Merlin’s shoulder.

“You’re going to wake my mother.” Merlin hisses.

Gwaine presses his face harder into Merlin’s shoulder to muffle his laughter.

“Too late, my boy.” Merlin’s mother says, levelling them with an unimpressed look only mothers are capable of.

All pretense forgotten, Gwaine bursts out laughing. He half expects the guards to bang on the door and tell him to shut up. It’s what the city watch always did if he got drunk enough to be thrown in a cell for the night. Granted that was usually when he started singing, so perhaps it was more his singing voice than the noise itself.

“Sorry, Mother.” Merlin says sheepishly.

She shakes her head, eyes sparkling with hidden amusement, “Honestly, what am I to do with the two of you?”

“I’m not sure that there’s much to be done, Ma’am.” Gwaine says politely.

“Call me Hunith, dear.” Hunith says gently, and her eyes remind him very much of Merlin’s in that moment; gentle, kind, determined. “Calling me Ma’am makes me feel older than I already am.”

“Sorry, Hunith.” Gwaine responds, acknowledging her request.

“All is forgiven, now why don’t you tell me what made you laugh so hard in the face of death.”

“Gwaine’s beard tickles.” Merlin answers.

Hunith smiles a little, “I would tell you that I prefer you save any cuddling until I was out of the room, but I suppose we are unlikely to get that any time soon.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Merlin mumbles, and ducks his head in embarrassment.

“All perfectly innocent.” Gwaine agrees.

Merlin glares at him, “You aren’t helping my case.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” Gwaine responds with a winning grin.

“Ridiculous.”

Gwaine opens his mouth to defend himself. After all, if he was ridiculous, then King Arthur would not have tracked him down in an entirely different kingdom in order to have his revenge. Sophia may not be as pure as the driven snow, but she still thought him charming enough to get on with. He’s hardly that ridiculous.

Before he can say any of that to Merlin, the door swings open once again. The smoke house temporarily floods with sunlight, blinding them all. Gwaine hears a grunt and a thud. Some other unlucky fool has been thrown in with them, what a shame. He was hoping to spend his last moments with just Merlin and Hunith. The door cracks shut once again, and Gwaine tries to blink the spots out of his eyes.

Merlin must recover first because he lets out a gasp, and launches himself out of Gwaine’s arms, shouting, “Arthur!”

When the spots finally clear, Gwaine sees Merlin kneeling next to a familiar sweep of blonde hair. King Arthur looks up at them, blinking as though he’s just emerged from deep underwater. His eyes are blue once more.

“Merlin?” the tone is still haughty, but it has none of the cruelty Gwaine remembers from their encounters, “Where on earth am I?”

“Err…” Merlin grimaces, “Ealdor.”

Arthur frowns, taking in his surroundings, “Why the hell am I in Ealdor?”

“Do you not remember anything?”

Arthur shakes his head slowly, side to side, like he’s dispersing fog, “I… I think I was in Caerleon. I met someone…”

“The love of my life.” Gwaine provides, but there’s no heat to it.

“You look familiar.” Arthur says, eyes losing some of the haziness, “You were in the throne room.”

“Yes, Your Highness, on your wedding day.” 

“Wedding day? I’m not married. I haven’t had the chance to propose to Gwen yet.” Arthur says sharply, then all the color drains from his face, “Merlin! Why did you let me get married?”

“I’m sorry, how is this _my_ fault?” Merlin snaps.

“You’re meant to knock me out when I get into this kind of trouble! That’s what you did when Lady Vivian slipped me that damn love potion last year!”

“You are such an ass! You yelled at me over that if you remember correctly!”

“Well I wouldn’t have yelled this time!” Arthur bellows, “I am married to a woman who’s dragged me on a damn goose chase across three of the five kingdoms!”

Merlin scowls, and for a moment Gwaine thinks he’s preparing to strangle Arthur himself. Then he’s diving forward and pulling Arthur into a hug. Arthur splutters awkwardly, and tries to wriggle free of Merlin’s grip, but Merlin just hangs on tighter.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Merlin says, voice thick, “I was worried I was never going to get to see you again.”

To Gwaine’s surprise, Arthur relents, and ruffles the back of Merlin’s hair, “It’s all going to be fine, Merlin.”

Merlin pulls back, and dashes at the tears gathering in his eyes. Arthur looks supremely uncomfortable about the display of emotion, and he punches Merlin lightly on the arm in response. It makes Merlin laugh weakly.

“I already told you that that doesn’t work to cheer me up. I’m not thick like you.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” 

“Sorry, we’re in Cenred’s kingdom. You don’t have any authority here.”

“If you’re not going to shut up, at least be useful and tell me what happened. Everything is fuzzy. I remember coming to Ealdor, but there’s not… I…” Arthur trails off, eyes widening, “Your mother! Merlin! Is she alright?”

“I’m here, Dear.” Hunith says kindly.

Gwaine is certain that Hunith of Ealdor is the only person who can call Arthur ‘Dear’ and get away with it. His suspicions are confirmed when Arthur stumbles across the room to her, and takes her hands in his, with no regard for his fine clothes getting dirty. He kneels in the dirt just like Merlin did.

“I am so sorry, Hunith. I have treated you abysmally.”

Hunith squeezes Arthur’s hands, face soft and motherly, “It’s alright. I know it wasn’t your fault. I think you were under some kind of enchantment.”

Arthur glances at Merlin then, as if looking for confirmation. Merlin nods, and Arthur loses a little of the guilt in his eyes, but not much. Gwaine wonders when this enchantment set in, if the King Arthur he met that day in the throne room was even still King Arthur.

He also takes stock of Arthur’s relationship to Merlin. Merlin had said they were best friends, but Gwaine figured it was all one sided. After all, Kings aren’t meant to take up with those lower than them, but the casual way he let Merlin insult him certainly shows that the friendship is deep on both sides. He’d let Merlin hug him, had hugged Merlin back. He kneels before Hunith like she is his own mother.

He has a feeling he’s going to have to rewrite his impression of Arthur as person. In fact, it seems like his impression of Arthur was entirely incorrect. He seems properly noble, not just titled as one.

“What happened?” Arthur asks, losing the bickering edge.

“You’re not going to like it,” Merlin warns, “either of you.”

Gwaine startles when he realizes Merlin is looking at him. He hasn’t the faintest idea what Arthur being under an enchantment has to do with him, but it seems important to Merlin that he listen. Merlin seems to be the only one holding all the cards as to how the three of them ended up tangled like this, so Gwaine will listen and listen carefully.

“Sophia is a Sidhe.”

“What?” Gwaine shouts as Arthur says, “I’m sorry?”

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it!” Merlin says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“They’re allowed to be a bit shocked, Merlin.” Hunith says soothingly.

Merlin sighs, and drags a hand over his face. When he finally looks at them, he seems older than his years. Gwaine wonders how he could have missed this before. Merlin looks as though he’s had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and is only now getting to share that weight. Gwaine remembers, suddenly, a moment next to the campfire when he thought Merlin looked a million miles away. He’d chalked it up to the raid of Ealdor and the stress of the bandit atack at the time, but now he knows more. Merlin was scared for his friend, his mother, and the places he’s called home.

“Sophia is a Sidhe.” Merlin repeats, “It’s a type of faerie that lives in the lake of Avalon.”

“What is she doing here?” Arthur asks, putting voice to the question.

“Gaius isn’t sure.” Merlin admits, “But if she’s been forced to take on human form, she’s likely trying to find a way back to Avalon after being exiled. The Sidhe aren’t exactly forgiving, so she’s probably trying to find a way to do them a favor so she can return.”

“The magical artifact.” Gwaine says, remembering what Merlin said, “The one everyone keeps calling Emrys.”

Merlin nods tiredly, “They’re under the impression it’s a magical artifact, but it’s a sorcerer. The most powerful sorcerer to ever live. There’s a prophecy about him and everything. He’s meant to walk at the side of the Once and Future King. We think the story got a little muddled when it got to Avalon, and they thought that Emrys was a magical artifact that would give the Once and Future King unimaginable power. She’s been looking for Emrys since, trying to cozy up to the right king.”

“That doesn’t explain why she took up with me.” Gwaine points out.

“You were a Knight of Caerleon at the time. She probably thought that you could introduce her to him. Then Arthur came along…”

“And she decided I was an easier mark.” Arthur finishes.

“She was controlling you Arthur, right from the beginning. I’m so sorry.”

“She controlled me too, didn’t she?” Gwaine says darkly.

He’d thought the fuzziness he always felt around her was being drunk on love. This puts everything about her in a darker light, but also explains her anger when she thought he’d moved on. His loyalty to Merlin prevented her from invading his mind again.

“But shouldn’t my love for Gwen have saved me?” Arthur demands.

“Only powerful magic can stop a Sidhe, and Gwen is no sorceress.”

This mysterious Gwen might not be, but Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion about the man in front of him. If he thinks back about his time with Merlin, things have fallen so easily into his lap. Merlin somehow defeated all of those bandits by himself. Valliant got spectacularly drunk, despite never being in the habit of drinking before a match. Even going all the way back to the first moment he met Merlin, the dice Gwaine rolled had miraculously landed on the right number.

“But why would she come to Ealdor to find Emrys?”

Gwaine has a feeling that he knows exactly why. 

“She got word that he was here.” Merlin answers with a little twist to his mouth, “By then I’d already returned home to help with an illness, so I don’t know why she got that word or how, but next thing I know you were riding in. Your training for when they fought Kanen didn’t stick I’m afraid.”

“So why is he here?” Arthur asks, nodding towards Gwaine.

Gwaine rolls his eyes at him, resenting being referred to as another moving part. It’s really quite annoying being dismissed when he brought Merlin all the way here safely. Although, if he’s right, Merlin may not have need his protection at all.

“Sophia used Gwaine against you. Her enchantment was more effective when you thought you had to measure up to her former love. You ordered me to track him down, and bring him to you so that you could chop his head off.”

“And you listened to me in that state?”

“You had my mother.”

Arthur’s mouth closes with a snap, and he slides a guilty glance at Hunith. They sit in silence, letting the full extent of the story sink into all of them. It’s one hell of a plot.

“So now we’re stuck in an enemy kingdom, captured by the most magical creature we’ve ever encountered, and we have no back up.” Arthur says after a few moments.

“Leon is here. He doesn’t seem to be as affected by Sophia’s magic as the others, maybe because he’s so rigid about the knights’ code.” Merlin says helpfully.

“You’re really going to be a nuisance about the Knight’s Code at a time like this?” Arthur complains.

Merlin shrugs. Arthur rolls his eyes. They really act more like brothers than subject and king.

“We wait.” Arthur says decisively, “I don’t think Sophia intends to keep us alive much longer, and when she comes to see to our execution, we make our bid for freedom. It will go better now that we have two swords on our side. I vaguely remember the castle guard being thoroughly trounced by you.”

He directs that last comment to Gwaine.

Gwaine grins, and inclines his head, “To give Merlin a chance, you can count on my help.”


	7. Chapter 7

The obvious flaw in Arthur’s plan is that they don’t have any swords. They were so caught up in the adrenaline rush of planning that they completely forgot they were disarmed the second they were captured. Merlin glares at Arthur when he admits to losing his sword shortly after Sophia ended her enchantment, and at Arthur’s confused look, all Merlin will say is:

“I care a hell of a lot about that sword.”

Far be it from Gwaine to agree with Arthur on anything, but he thinks he probably has the same incredulous look on his face as Arthur does at that kind of comment. Why Merlin gives a damn about a sword when Arthur can purchase hundreds of swords, and they are about to fight for their lives, Gwaine can’t say. Perhaps Merlin was relying on it to get them out of it.

Maybe it was an enchanted sword. He has to wonder if Merlin is even strong enough to enchant a weapon like that. He hasn’t seen the proof of Merlin’s magic yet, but he has one of his gut feelings about it. If Merlin doesn’t have magic, then Gwaine will eat his own socks.

That does beg the question as to why Merlin hasn’t used his magic to help them escape. Operating under the assumption that Merlin is this Emrys everyone has been looking for, then he must have enough magic to blast the smoke house to rubble. Of course, Gwaine could be wrong about the whole Emrys thing. Merlin could just be a random low level sorcerer, and it could be just a coincidence that he grew up in the place that Sophia invaded in order to look for Emrys. That would be one hell of a coincidence though, especially considering Merlin has apparently been working as Arthur’s right hand for nearly four years. The only explanation is that Merlin is hiding his magic.

Cenred never outlawed the use of magic, but he also had a history of demanding sorcerers fight for him in battle if they wanted to keep their heads, and villagers have always been a superstitious bunch. Could be that Merlin grew up hiding his magic, it would be a hard habit to break. No doubt he continued to hide it in Camelot when it was still illegal. That still doesn’t answer the question of why he continues to hide if Arthur has relegalized it, but if Merlin wants to hide it, then Gwaine will give him the curtesy of pretending he hasn’t connected the dots.

“Even you can’t fight of thirty armed guards barehanded, Arthur.” Merlin points out.

Arthur continues to pace recklessly around the perimeter of the smoke house, like an animal in a cage. Arthur strikes Gwaine as someone who never does well sitting still when there’s work to be done, and he doesn’t envy Merlin the position of having to keep that pacing in check. It must drive him mad back in Arthur’s chambers in Camelot.

“We have to get out of here,” Arthur repeats for the thousandth time, “not just because I have a Kingdom to run, but because none of you would be in this mess without me. I refuse to have your deaths on my conscious.”

“You were enchanted.” Merlin says, rolling his eyes.

Arthur glares at him, and Merlin glares back. Arthur sags, like a puppet with its strings cut, and sinks down to sit beside Merlin’s other side. Gwaine hasn’t moved from Merlin’s right this whole time, still too worried that someone would come in and try to separate them again.

“We’ll find a way out,” Merlin says soothingly and squeezes Arthur’s shoulder bracingly, “We always have in the past. Remember when we rescued Gwen from the warlord that time?”

Arthur snorts and shakes his head, “That wasn’t as difficult as this, Merlin.”

The smoke house falls silent again, each of them trying to think their way out of this situation. Gwaine may not like that Sophia betrayed them, or that Merlin lied, but he doesn’t blame Arthur or Merlin for the situation they’re in. This was a Sophia plan through and through, he should’ve seen her thirst for power long ago. Merlin would probably strangle him for blaming himself for being enchanted while not blaming Arthur for the same thing, but Merlin can’t read minds. Or… Gwaine is pretty sure Merlin doesn’t read minds. 

He tries to thinks through all the things he knows about Sophia, but it keeps coming away muddled. She likes power, she wants to return home, she liked watching Gwaine fight in tournaments. Though, it might be the tourney itself that she enjoyed, not going to support Gwaine. It kept her entertained.

His eyes widen with realization, and he turns to Merlin, “Do Sidhe like bloodshed?”

Merlin blinks at him for a few moments, then nods, “Yeah. Normally reopening the gates of Avalon require a whole sacrifice. Sophia must have really angered them if she’s been sent to find Emrys instead of just hauling Arthur of and drowning him the lake.”

“I’m not sure if opening the gate is her goal anymore. She wanted me to rule Camelot by her side, remember? But I think I have an idea that will grant us swords.” Gwaine announces.

Arthur sits up properly to look at him, “What is it?”

“We convinced Sophia not to execute us, and instead fight each other to the death. She’ll give us swords to hack at each other, and then we go for the guards instead.”

“That might work if we can find a way to get her to talk to us before she tries to chop off our heads.”

“What about my mother and me?” Merlin interjects, “I doubt Sophia will just let us go because the two of you put on a good enough show.”

“Honestly, do I have to think of everything?” Arthur huffs.

“I understand that you’re cranky, but you don’t need to be a prat about it. Your plan is a half-baked disaster.”

“Still a plan.” Gwaine says cheerfully.

Merlin sends him a flat look, “Why am I not surprised that you two get on when you’re not strangling each other?”

Gwaine just shrugs. His plan would work, but the trick will be getting Merlin and Hunith out. Merlin is quick on his feet, and probably has a few magical tricks up his sleeve to get himself out of any trouble he’s in, but Hunith will be slow. The months of captivity in a small room have not done her any favors. They need to compensate for that.

“Let’s start by seeing if we can even get word to Sophia.” Arthur suggests.

“She might still be willing to talk to me. I may have pissed her off last night, but if it looks like I’ve fallen under her enchantment again then she might be willing to listen.”

“Go on then.”

Gwaine nods, then clambers to his feet and leans against the door to the smokehouse. He tries to remember what he sounded like when he was completely gone on Sophia, and pitches his voice in his best imitation of it.

“Please! I want to speak to my lady love!” he says as desperately as he can manage.

He gets a hard thump against the door as one of the guards hits it, trying to shut him up. Annoying the guards into listening to him wasn’t his initial plan, but he can work with it.

“She is all I can think of!” he cries, “I can’t eat! I can’t sleep! Please let me speak to her!”

“Shut up in there!”

“Sophia, my love!” Gwaine calls even louder than before, “Please, my darling! I must speak with you!”

The door is ripped open, and Gwaine is once more blinded by sunlight. He can make out the silhouette of a guard, fists clenched. He’s used to this sight. The number of tavern owners and city watchmen who have glared down at him as he creates a ruckus is nearly uncountable. He falls to his knees, and grasps the hem of the guard’s tunic.

“I beg you kind sir! Please take a message to my beloved! Tell her that I am sorry for what I said last night! I know now that I should have said yes!”

“Get off.” The guard grumbles, and kicks Gwaine in the stomach.

Gwaine softens the blow as much as he can by hunching, but it still knocks the wind from him. He falls face first into the dirt, and wheezes pitifully. The door to the smokehouse snaps shut, leaving them in the semi darkness once more.

Firm hands come to rest on his shoulders, and he feels himself being turned onto his back. He blinks blearily at the person crouched over him, and realizes Merlin has once more stepped in to care for him. He is far too selfless for a man who has to hide an important aspect of who he is.

Merlin is joined by Arthur and Hunith a moment later. Arthur is clenching his jaw so hard that Gwaine can see the muscle flexing, but if his banter with Merlin is anything to go by, this is his way of showing concern. Hunith’s worry is written all across her dace.

“I’ll be fine.” Gwaine says hoarsely.

“Let’s just hope the plan worked, or the kick to your stomach will be the least of our concerns.” Arthur says stiffly.

They end up once more huddled against one wall of the smoke house together. There is safety in numbers, and they take full advantage of sticking close. If they have to claw their way out of here empty handed, then it’s better if the guards can’t separate them. No one says much, there isn’t really anything to say.

A voice says something outside, but it’s too far away for anyone to hear what it says. They can hear the guards stationed outside their door respond to it, warning whoever it is of their orders to keep people away. Gwaine exchanges glances with Merlin and Arthur. If Sophia decided to hear them out, he doubts she would deign to come down here by herself, it’s just not her style.

“I come with a message directly from Queen Sophia herself.” The voice responds.

Merlin and Arthur perk up, and hopeful smiles begin to spread across their faces. Gwaine frowns at them, indicating he doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

“It’s Leon.” Merlin whispers.

“Our orders were to keep people out, Sir Leon.” One of the guards insists.

“And my orders were to speak to the prisoners,” the mysterious Sir Leon says imperiously, “I am happy to return to Queen Sophia and explain exactly why I have been prevented from doing my duties, but I doubt you will like the consequences if she were forced to come down here herself.”

“Fine,” the second guard snaps, “but make it quick.”

“I will take as long as I need. You forget that you are speaking to a Knight of Camelot.”

The guards grumble under their breath, but the door swings open again. The curly haired knight from before steps through, and the door closes behind him. He glances over his shoulder, as though checking to make sure the guards really are gone, then smiles tentatively at the group.

“Are you well again, Sire?” he asks softly.

Arthur lets out a huge sigh of relief, and hauls himself to his feet, “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see you.”

Leon’s little smile grows into a proper grin, and he grasps Arthur’s forearm in the knights’ grip. He turns to Merlin next, and Merlin grins in return as Leon ruffles his hair as though Merlin is his little brother. They’re a strange sort of family, but one none the less.

“How are you not enchanted?” Merlin asks.

“I never was.” Leon admits, “I think something about the cup of life that the druids used to save me, prevented me from falling under her spell. Any time she tried to invade my mind, there was this glow that pushed back against it. I’ve been pretending this whole time in order to keep any eye on Arthur.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Arthur says.

“One of the guards was foolish enough to try to bring your message to Sophia. What were you thinking trying to get her attention like that?”

“These two cabbage heads decided that the best way to get weapons was convince Sophia to let them fight to the death.” Merlin answers.

Feeling compelled to defend himself, Gwaine says, “I still think it was a good plan.”

“I will give you that even a disastrous plan is better than no plan at all, that’s it.”

“Hey! You just told Arthur to stop being cranky, don’t turn it on me now!”

“You must be Sir Gwaine.” Leon interrupts.

Gwaine shrugs, and flicks his hair out of his face, “I haven’t been a knight for over a year.” 

“Can we please stop nattering and actually come up with a plan?” Arthur demands.

Leon looks back over to Arthur and nods, “Sophia has yet to set an execution date, Sire. I think I can help you escape tonight. I will bring weapons from the armory, and knock out the guards on duty.”

“And then we make a break for it.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Still a disaster, but better than a fight to the death.” Merlin says, passing judgement.

Arthur glares at him again, but Merlin is unfazed. Gwaine wonders how long it took for Merlin to grow immune to that glare, he’s seen men tremble before kings with glares half as impressive as Arthur’s. He suspects knowing you could murder someone with a flick of your fingers, makes you difficult to intimidate.

They hash out a few more details with Leon, but he is forced to leave before his presence grows suspicious. The four of them sit in silence once more. Merlin and Arthur take the opportunity to nap, and even in sleep the two of them stick close together like puppies from the same litter. If it weren’t for Arthur’s insistence that he get back to Gwen, whoever she may be, Gwaine might have thought to be jealous. Instead, he’s just absurdly grateful that Merlin has someone to watch his back.

As though sensing Gwaine’s thoughts, Hunith rests one of her small hands on his arm, “They’ve both done so much growing up since the last time we were all together here. Sometimes I can’t believe they’re the same boys.”

“Life as a knight will do that.” Gwaine agrees softly.

None of them fare well with waiting. Arthur is up and pacing again the moment he wakes, and it only gets more agitated as the sun goes down. It makes Gwaine want to scream, but Merlin is there with a steady stream of clever insults to keep them all cheerful. It sort of works.

Just as the sun finally goes down, there are a couple soft grunts from outside and the sounds of something hitting the grass. The door to the smoke house swings open, and Leon stands in the doorway brandishing two swords.

“It’s time.” He says seriously.

They move as silently as possible out of the smoke house, and across the grass. Nothing stirs for several minutes as they flit from shadow to shadow. It’s like a mirror of what Merlin and Gwaine did that first night, trying to get into Ealdor. Funny that they should be using the same maneuver to leave.

The border of the village comes into sight, and they pick up the pace, desperate to lose any trackers in the dense underbrush of the forest. A cry goes up from a watch post, and suddenly the path is flooded with guards.

“Run!” Arthur bellows.

Merlin places his hands on Hunith’s shoulders and propels her forward. Arthur leads the charge, already swinging at the guards that attack them. Metal screeches in the air.

A guard comes at Gwaine, and he ducks to avoid being decapitated. He swings his own sword up, but is blocked so hard it jars his arm all the way up into his shoulder. He grits his teeth, disengages, pivots away, and comes back again. The guard is larger and slower, and can’t fend Gwaine off this time. His sword slides home, and the guard crumples.

He’s lost sight of Leon in the frenzy, but he can see Arthur and Merlin up ahead, trying to guard Hunith. Gwaine charges after them, and brings his sword up just in time to prevent a guard from getting a blow on Merlin. Merlin sends him a grateful smile and keeps moving. 

They near the edge of the village, but more guards come flooding into Ealdor out of nowhere. They might make it into the woods, but they’ll never avoid a scouting party this large. Arthur steps in front of Merlin and Hunith, sword raised, and Gwaine does the same. Strange how life turns out. He came here with every intention of killing Arthur and saving Sophia, now his goal is exactly flip flopped.

Merlin grabs Arthur’s shoulder in a white knuckled grip, “Go. I’ll hold them off.”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin.” Arthur pants, “Now is not the time for bravery. Take your mother and go.”

“You and Gwaine will have a better chance of keeping her safe than I do. Please, Arthur.”

“No.”

Merlin turns his pleading look on Gwaine then, and it makes his heart catch in his chest. He knows, with horrifying clarity, exactly what Merlin plans to do.

“Get them out of here.” Merlin says darkly.

“Okay.” Gwaine agrees.

Merlin’s face breaks with relief, and he darts forward to press a kiss to Gwaine’s lips. It’s a desperate press, more a mush of mouths against mouths than a proper kiss, but there isn’t time to rectify that. Besides, Gwaine can live quite happily knowing that the affection he’s grown for Merlin this last month is returned.

He nods, once, then grabs Arthur by the back of the shirt and pulls. Arthur stumbles back, protesting, but Merlin is already charging at the guards threatening to overwhelm them. Arthur calls out Merlin’s name in desperate horror, but there’s nothing he can do with Gwaine dragging him away.

A massive blast of wind explodes outward from the point where Merlin is standing, knocking the advancing guards back several feet. Several of them are blown off their feet entirely, knocking themselves out on the landing. 

The last glimpse Gwaine gets of him is Merlin starting another spell, only to be tackled by several of the guards. Leon hauls Merlin to his feet with obvious theatricality, and all Gwaine can think is that at least Merlin will have Leon there to protect him.


	8. Chapter 8

“Merlin has magic.” Arthur says darkly. He’s not glaring at Hunith, but it’s a near thing. Gwaine has never regretted being right about something before in his life, but he regrets being right about Merlin keeping his magic a secret. He probably had a good reason for it, but he and Arthur are close, practically brothers, and Arthur doesn’t seem like the type of person to take betrayal of that trust lightly.

“Yes,” Hunith says softly, “He’s had it since he was born.”

Arthur lets out a noise that can’t quite be considered a laugh, and drags a hand over his face, “And he never told me.”

Hunith struggles to her feet, and Gwaine reaches out to clasp her by the elbow so that she doesn’t fall. Months locked in a smokehouse have not done Hunith any favors when it comes to strength. She takes Arthur’s hands in hers, and gazes up at him with gentle eyes.

“It is my fault that you were never told.”

“No.” Arthur says firmly with a shake of his head, “It was on Merlin to tell me, not you.”

“He’s wanted to tell you from the beginning, Arthur.” Hunith insists, “He was going to tell you the first time you came to Ealdor. He wanted to trust you, even then, but I told him that you could never learn about his gift.”

“Why would you do that?” 

“When I first met you, you were still your father’s son. I wasn’t sure that Merlin’s faith in you was going to be repaid so I told him not to tell you. He’s wanted to tell you every day since then.”

“I can excuse him not telling me when my father was alive. I don’t know if I would’ve been strong enough to let that secret come between us, but after?”

“Oh, my boy,” Hunith says softly, and her motherly tone makes Gwaine’s heart twinge, “By then he’d been lying to you for so long, he couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling the way you do now. He never wanted to bring you any pain.”

Arthur clenches his jaw so hard that Gwaine can see the muscle jump, and he decides to intervene before Arthur does something he truly regrets. He may have only been in Arthur’s company a day, but he can tell that Arthur does not take his responsibility to others lightly. If he hurts Hunith, even with words, he’ll feel like an ass for weeks after. They can’t afford that self-doubt.

“We need to keep moving.” Gwaine interjects. He stands up, pulls his stolen sword from the dirt, and sheathes it once more.

Arthur turns away from Hunith and glares at Gwaine. Of course he takes the brunt of Arthur’s anger, that’s just typical for the way his life is going right now.

“We have to go back for Merlin.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes, “We can’t.”

“We can’t just leave him there!” Arthur shouts, “I may want to strangle him for what he did, but he’s my friend. I can’t just accept that he’s there and potentially hurt.”

“I don’t like it any better than you, but what are we meant to do?’ Gwaine asks, “All of the guards and soldiers there are still under Sophia’s control, we can’t take them on to get Merlin out. Even with Leon’s help, we’d be dead before we could reach Merlin. We can’t rely on Merlin’s magic to help us this time either because Sophia has probably figured out a way to keep it locked away too. No, we need a plan. As much as I want to storm the village, we can’t.”

Arthur sinks down on a log, suddenly silent. He rests his thumb against his lips, and it brings attention to his thumb ring. Hunith sits down next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder without saying a word, just there as silent support. Arthur takes a deep breath, and looks up at Gwaine.

“You’re right.” His voice holds the certainty of a king, but it lacks the cruelness Gwaine was expecting. Seems as though Sophia really did a number, “We need reinforcements. We make for Camelot, return with troops.”

“Now that’s the kind of thinking we’re looking for.”

Arthur nods decisively, and stands. Even without armor, he seems to hold himself ready for the weight of it. Gwaine admires it, the ability to force away all your emotions and do what needs to be done. Arthur had a stumble, but he recovered. Gwaine stumbled and fell over a year ago, it wasn’t until Merlin breezed into his life that he was able to pick himself up, and every instinct in him screams to go back for him. He has to remind himself that he was the one that pointed out they couldn’t get Merlin out if they were dead.

Arthur helps Hunith back to her feet, and she pats his arm proudly, “If you wouldn’t mind, I think it would be best if you dropped me off in Longstead.”

“We can’t leave you as well, Hunith. Merlin would never forgive us.” Arthur insists.

“Nonsense. I’m not up to much walking, I need time to recover. I have a cousin in Longstead, and I can stay with her instead of slowing us down. Merlin would want you to get help, not pander to a woman who can already be made safe.”

“Very well.” Arthur agrees, though he looks conflicted, “Longstead is on the way. We’ll pass through and leave you with your cousin. If she refuses to help…”

“Then you can keep dragging me along.” Hunith promises, a small smile playing about her mouth, “Merlin is right about being a very stubborn man.”

“Remind me to put him in the stocks when we get back.” Arthur says, but there’s no heat to it. It has the feel of a well-worn inside joke. Merlin must have spent a lot of time in the stocks when Uther was king.

They arrive in Longstead the next morning, and Hunith’s cousin is more than overjoyed to see her. Gwaine is tempted to take them up on the offer of food, but when he exchanges glances with Arthur, he knows they won’t be stopping until nightfall. He nods once, in understanding, and leaves Hunith and her cousin with the promise that Merlin will be with them the next time they arrive.

He and Arthur walk in silence for most of the morning, and only pause in the afternoon to drink some water from a nearby stream. Gwaine’s stomach is grumbling, but he doesn’t regret the decision to keep moving. Hunger is going to be the least of Merlin’s concerns if they don’t get to him in time. 

The forest around them is bright green and alive, but Gwaine feels like something is missing as they walk. It’s as though it isn’t as alive as it was when Merlin walked through. He’s hard pressed to say whether it’s because of his affection for Merlin, or the Merlin’s magic. Perhaps a bit of both. He got used to the sound of Merlin’s voice echoing off the trees.

“That was an interesting kiss.” Arthur says stiffly after several hours of silence.

Gwaine frowns at him, caught off guard by the sudden conversation, “What?”

“You and Merlin, before we left, you kissed.” Arthur says, eyes still focused on where they’re headed rather than Gwaine.

“Why are we talking about this?”

“Merlin’s my friend, and as far as I know he’s never really expressed that kind of affection for anyone. I suppose he could be keeping it a secret, he seems to be good at that.”

“It was a good kiss.” Gwaine says defensively. 

In reality, the kiss was kind of rubbish. Gwaine has kissed many people in his time, and Merlin wasn’t the worst, but it definitely didn’t crack the top ten as far as experience goes. It was rushed, and awkward, and a bit gross because they hadn’t had access to water yet that day. It did crack the top ten as far as importance went, hell, it could be the most important kiss he’s ever had. It was the first time he kissed someone because of his own genuine affection. Merlin is also easily the best person Gwaine has ever kissed. The technique can be worked on later.

“I really don’t want to know.” Arthur says with a little disgusted curl to his lips.

Gwaine rolls his eyes, “You can’t be weirded out by it. Surely you’ve seen knights kiss on the battlefield before going to their deaths.”

“I have. I just don’t want to know details like that about a man I consider family.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Arthur sighs and tilts his head skyward like he’s begging god for patience, “I’m used to Merlin chattering away at me during journeys like this. The quiet felt strange.”

Gwaine softens a little, and claps Arthur on the shoulder as they walk, “Yeah. I got used to his chatter too.”

They don’t try to fill the silence after that. Each of them too caught up in their worry for their friend to think of much else. Gwaine wants to be angry at Arthur for putting Merlin in this position, but he knows that the only one to blame is Sophia. He can’t take his worry out on the only man he can call an ally at the moment. Merlin is tough. He’ll withstand whatever Sophia has to throw at him.

They come across a tavern at nightfall. It sits innocuously at the side of the road, warm and inviting. It makes the hair on Gwaine’s arms stand on end. He hooks his hand around Arthur’s elbows, and Arthur shoots him an irritated scowl.

“Touch me again, and you die.”

“No manners, you royals.” Gwaine teases, but falls serious once more, “We shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“Something about it just doesn’t feel right.”

“We need a place to rest, and we’ll be much safer if there’s a roof over our heads. We also need to eat, and we don’t have time to waste trying to hunt. This is the best solution to those problems that we have at the moment.”

“I’m telling you, there’s something wrong.”

Arthur sighs, and looks vaguely uncomfortable as he regards the tavern, “We step in, and if anything feels off, then we leave.”

“Fine.” Gwaine has a feeling that this may be the best bargain he can get with Arthur at the moment, and getting to sleep in an actual bed after months on the road sounds really good.

The inside resembles any other tavern Gwaine has seen over the years; old wood, crackling fire in one corner, rowdy patrons gathered around the tables. No one looks up as they enter, and that’s a good sign. Smugglers’ taverns are usually filled with the suspicious kind. Together, he and Arthur walk up to the bar, and Arthur leans forward to get the tavern owner’s attention.

“How much for a room and two bowls of stew?” Arthur asks.

The tavern owner tilts his head, and squints at them, “You lot don’t seem to be carrying any bags. How do I know I can trust you to pay before leaving?”

“I swear, we have no intention of leaving you without pay. We just want to know the cost, and if we can’t afford it then we’ll leave.”

“What do you have to swear on, if I don’t even know your name?”

“Names don’t matter. I only want a room for the night.”

“Tell you what,” the tavern owner says, leaning forward to match Arthur’s positioning, “Work for me, and I’ll let you have the room and food as payment.”

There’s something about this that Gwaine doesn’t like. It seems too easy. The tavern is full, but not so full that the proprietor would need to take on extra help. It just doesn’t make sense that he would give up on coin for labor. He’s opening his mouth to warn Arthur off, but it’s too late.

“Deal.” Arthur says, and shakes hands with the tavern owner.

Pulsing red light snakes out, and wraps itself around Arthur’s wrist. He tries to yank his hand away, but the tavern owner holds on tighter. The magic sinks into Arthur’s skin, and the tavern owner’s eyes pulse red like Sophia’s did before. He grins like a cat that just caught a mouse.

“Get to work.” He says, then releases Arthur’s hand.

Gwaine raises his eyebrows at Arthur, and crosses his arms, “How do you keep stumbling into this? Can you really not go a day without Merlin without getting trapped by magical creatures?”

“I’m starting to think he’s saved my life more times than he’s let on.” Arthur says tiredly.

A broom floats from somewhere on the other side of the tavern, and whacks Arthur on the head. Gwaine stifles a snort as Arthur wrestles it away from him as it continues its assault, but has to duck as a serving tray comes whizzing at his head as well. He manages to grab it when it circles around to hit him in the head once more. He glares at Arthur who glares back at him, and they move off to do their designated jobs.

In all fairness, the tavern owner does come through on his promise. They are given a key to a room, and two bowls of stew once the last patron leaves for the night. It’s thick and filling, so that’s something. The bed is comfortable, and Arthur turns out not to have any qualms about sharing. He also isn’t a covers hog, so Gwaine awakes the next morning feeling quite refreshed.

The problem doesn’t start until they try to leave. Every door they try snaps shut in their faces. Windows become impossible to budge. Even trying to exit the stables to return to the woods magically reappears them in the center of the tavern. 

“We’re stuck.” Arthur says, frustration apparent in the sharpness of his tone.

“Not to say I told you so,” Gwaine says lightly, “but I did say something feels off.”

“Yes, thank you, Gwaine.”

The pattern repeats for three days. They work in the tavern all day, and sleep in their room at night. The stew is always filling. They can never escape. 

After a while, it becomes difficult to remember why in earth they would want to leave. Why go back into the uncertainty of the world when there is certainty here? They have a warm bed, warm food, and plenty of conversation with the patrons. Gwaine’s mind starts to go fuzzy, just like it used to with Sophia. 

Then he spills a drink down the front of a dark haired man, and a flair of gold blazes through his mind, clearing it of all thoughts of staying. The dark haired man looks just as stunned as Gwaine, and he too is carrying a serving tray. Gwaine can’t for the life of him remember if he met this man before. He must have if they’re both working.

“You’re trapped like me.” The dark haired man says, and yes that sounds right.

Gwaine looks wildly around the tavern, and he spots Arthur sweeping up in one corner, “We both are.”

“You didn’t give him your name did you?”

“No. No we didn’t.” Gwaine can remember that much.

The dark haired man looks relieved, “Good. Then you can still get out.”

“You know a way?”

“Don’t go to your room tonight, or eat any of the stew.”

“What? Why?” Gwaine asks.

The dark haired man’s eyes flicker to the side, and Gwaine follows their path. The tavern owner is watching them both. 

“I will tell you everything when we escape. I promise.”

Gwaine nods tightly, and goes back to serving drinks. He works in careful circles around the tables, until he can brush his elbow against Arthur’s shoulder. It is simple to lean in and whisper the warning the dark haired man gave him. Arthur looks like he wants to argue for a moment, but at Gwaine’s look, he too nods in understanding.

When the last patron clears that night, the tavern owner once more brings out their bowls of stew, and sets them on the usual table.

Arthur makes a big production of yawning, and resting his chin on the table like he’s too tired to even contemplate eating, let alone walking all the way up to his room. He smiles at the tavern owner, and even Gwaine is tempted to believe the guileless look on Arthur’s face.

“It smells wonderful, but I’m afraid I can’t eat another bite.”

“You must be hungry.” The tavern owner insists.

Arthur just shakes his head, “No. I’m only here to keep my friend company.”

The tavern owner looks at Gwaine then, and Gwaine pretends to shovel a bite of the stew into his mouth. The tavern owner seems to relax at that, apparently safe in the belief that he still has one of them captured. As soon as his back is turned, Gwaine puts his spoon down, and leans forward until Arthur.

“Do you see him anywhere?” Gwaine asks.

“How would I know?” Arthur asks, “I wasn’t the one who saw him. All you said was that he had dark hair.”

“I was a bit caught up in the whole escape plan to get a good look at him, Sire.” Gwaine says, putting as much disrespect into the title as he can.

“Shut up.” 

They stay hunched over at the table all night. Somewhere in the time when it’s hard to tell if it’s really late at night, or really early in the morning Gwaine’s back starts to ache from the chair. He thinks longingly of the bed upstairs, and even finds himself looking at the stairs. Surely just an hour or so nap wouldn’t be too much. He doesn’t even realize he’s half out of his seat until Arthur’s hand wraps around his arm and tugs him back down. He shakes his head, and Gwaine remembers the warning.

Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting everything in a golden light. It reminds Gwaine a bit of the light that weaves its way through his mind to keep him safe. He stands, hands trembling, and reaches for the window closest to the table. Arthur sits up to watch.

Gwaine lifts the latch, and pushes on the pain. It swings open easily. He shoots Arthur a grin, and Arthur returns it. It’s the first time Gwaine has ever seen Arthur smile, and he can see why the mysterious Gwen could be taken in by such a pain in the ass. The smile is crooked and bright. The only one better than it is Merlin’s.

They gather their swords from where they left them their first night, and make for the front door. Gwaine opens it easily, and they step out into the woods once more. The sun is warm on his skin. He looks over his shoulder, but there’s no sign of the man who helped them. Gwaine hopes that he finds a way out soon.

The door clicks shut behind them, and Arthur sets a quick pace away from the tavern. An angry scream rips through the early morning silence, and they share a look. The tavern owner must have realized they were gone. They take off at a sprint. Gwaine doubts the tavern owner could follow them, but better safe than sorry.

They stop running after a few minutes, when it becomes clear that no one is following them. They stop, sucking in a deep desperate breaths. A twig cracks somewhere to their right, and they have their swords drawn before they’ve even got their breath back.

“Show yourself!” Arthur shouts.

“You made it.” A familiar voice says, sounding relieved, and the dark haired man steps out from the trees.

“So did you, I see.” Gwaine says happily, and sheathes his sword, “Arthur, this is the man who helped us.”

Arthur sheathes his sword as well, and holds his hand out, “We owe you a debt of thanks. What’s your name?”

“Lancelot.”

“How did you know how to get us out of there?” Gwaine asks, coming up to shake Lancelot’s hand as well.

“It was a guess. The Sidhe, like all Fae, take deals very seriously. By providing them with labor without taking their payment, we were able to choose the payment we take.” Lancelot explains, dark eyes serious.

“Any chance you want to help us take on a Sidhe stronger than the one in there?”

“Oh, I was on my way to Camelot. I was intending to be a knight.” Lancelot says awkwardly.

Arthur grins, “I happen to be King Arthur. Help us free Ealdor, and a knighthood is yours.”


	9. Chapter 9

“We should stop here for the night.” Lancelot says as they stumble into the town.

The sun is just dipping down below the horizon, casting the whole world in shades of yellow an orange. People are just returning to their homes for dinner, and the smells drifting in the air makes Gwaine’s stomach rumble. Shadows stretch along the road, throwing the insides of the buildings into sharp clarity.

As much as he wants to stop, take a moment to get some more proper food in him after leaving that cursed Sidhe tavern two days ago, and get some rest, he also wants to keep pushing on. Every moment that they leave Merlin in the care of Sophia is one more moment where Merlin is in danger. They need to get back to Camelot as quickly as possible, no matter how exhausted they all might be.

Arthur must be thinking along the same lines because he shakes his head and says, “We should keep going. We have light still, and we need to return to Merlin.”

“I’m with Arthur.” Gwaine agrees, “Camelot is only half a day’s walk from here. If we keep moving now then we’ll reach it tomorrow before lunch.”

Lancelot stops, and turns to face them. His eyes are very dark, and very serious as he regards them, and Gwaine has a feeling that he and Arthur are about to lose their argument to a well-reasoned explanation. He knows they’ve both been operating on emotion since Merlin was captured, but it’s been keeping them going. Lancelot is about to wipe away their objections with cold hard facts.

“You’ve both been travelling for several days without proper food or rest. Gwaine, you’ve been travelling even longer.” Lancelot says calmly, “I know your friend id important to you, but you are no good to him if you die from exhaustion before you get back to him. Now, we are going to find a tavern, and we’re going to seat proper food, and the two of you are going to get some proper sleep,”

Ah. There it is. Logic.

With that, Lancelot turns back around and heads off to the tavern. Gwaine and Arthur stay frozen in the middle of the street, thoroughly chastised. After a moment, Gwaine sighs and turns to Arthur.

“I thought you were in charge.” he jokes.

Arthur glares at him, but it lacks the bite from even yesterday. Perhaps they do need a rest. 

“Shut up.” Arthur says tiredly, and takes off after Lancelot.

Not wanting to be the only one left on the street, Gwaine goes after Lancelot as well. The tavern is just like any other tavern they’ve stopped in along the way, but it lacks the eerie sense of wrongness that the Sidhe tavern held. Gwaine can’t wait until all of this is done with so that he can take some time to not sleep in a tavern. He never thought he’d be the one to get sick of them, but between his travels before Merlin, and travels involving Merlin, Gwaine is over it.

He doesn’t want a bed that a thousand other people have slept in. He doesn’t want thin stew with barely edible vegetables and mystery meat. He wants to settle down somewhere, at least for a little bit. He wants a proper bed, a roof over his head, and proper food. He wants to enjoy going out to taverns again, instead of staying in them by necessity. 

In short, he’s done with being a drifter until further notice. He just hopes he can find a place to settle after all of this, some place to call his own. Nemeth is supposed to be nice. He doesn’t dare to hope that Merlin will come with him, his place is by Arthur’s side, but maybe Gwaine can come visit. That would be nice.

He drags himself up the steps to the tavern, and pushes inside. A few curious glances come his way, but none of them linger, and Gwaine forgets them nearly as quickly as he sees them. He crosses the room and sinks down on a bench next to Arthur. Lancelot must have moved quickly, because a round of ale and stew is already waiting for them. Arthur is staring into his stew like it is a fathomless pit, or maybe like it holds all the answers to the universe.

“You alright?” Gwaine asks gruffly.

Arthur sighs again, and drags his hand over his face, “Just… Merlin served me rat stew once.”

Gwaine grins, and settles back against the wall, “What did you do to deserve rat stew?”

“I killed a unicorn.”

Lancelot frowns disapprovingly, “Unicorns are meant to be the purest creatures in existence. Why did you kill one?”

“At the time I was still heavily influenced by my father, and I thought he’d want its horn as a trophy.” Arthur explains and takes a bite of his stew, “He did, to be fair, but it unleashed a curse on Camelot that included a famine. Merlin killed the rat that was eating my boots and served it to me.” Arthur smiles a bit at the memory, “He does things like that, doesn’t let you forget that you’re just as human as anyone else. Without him, I don’t think the keeper of the unicorns would have forgiven me, nor would I have brought the unicorn back.”

“Your friend sounds like a good man.” Lancelot remarks.

Arthur exchanges a look with Gwaine, and hey grin at each other. Turns out they do have some common ground between them, and it’s Merlin. Despite the way Arthur and Merlin seemed intent on tearing each other down, it is very clear to Gwaine that they are the only ones allowed to do so. It’s a result of the two of them going through hell and back for each other time and again. Arthur must know how much Gwaine himself admires Merlin, after all he listened to Merlin’s instructions that day in Ealdor. Merlin means a lot to both of them.

“He’s the most useless, insolent, irritating manservant I’ve ever had.” Arthur drawls, “But the bravest, most loyal, and true hearted man I have ever met.”

“That about sums Merlin up, alright.” Gwaine agrees, “You spend so much of your time wanting to strangle him, only to turn around and realize you can’t imagine what life would be like without him there.”

“Then let’s raise a glass,” Lancelot says and raises his mug, “or mug I suppose. To Merlin.”

“To Merlin. May he be safe.” Gwaine echoes.

“To Merlin. May he last long enough to irritate me once more.” Arthur agrees.

The ale tastes like piss, but at least it’s something to drink that isn’t water from Lancelot’s water skin. Gwaine chugs about half of his in one go, and next to him Arthur does the same. There doesn’t seem to be the need for any more conversation, and Gwaine takes the opportunity to tuck into the stew. It’s watery just like all the other tavern stew he’s had over the years. The vegetables are identifiable this time though, so that’s an improvement.

Gwaine downs the second half of his drink, and swings his legs out from the bench to go get another mug. Arthur eyes him sideways, and Gwaine rolls his eyes at him.

“I haven’t gotten drunk since I started travelling with Merlin. I’m hardly going to end that streak with his life in the balance.” Gwaine says as he stands, “Stop worrying, Princess.”

“Did you get this attitude from Merlin? Or were you always this irreverent?” Arthur asks, and takes a sip of his own ale.

“No manners you royals.” Gwaine jokes, “Let’s just say that Merlin and I share a similar attitude.”

“God help me.” Arthur mutters into his drink, but doesn’t make any effort to confront Gwaine.

Gwaine wanders over to the bar, orders another mug of ale, and reaches back to lift his hair off his neck. At some point, the heat inside the tavern went up, and now he’s sweating. He hasn’t looked in a mirror recently, but there’s no doubt in his mind that he looks a right mess. He doesn’t want to add the stench of sweat to the list of things off with him, but he left the leather tie he usually uses to tie his hair up, back in Caerleon. 

When he gets handed his mug of ale, he walks back over to the table. Lancelot managed to get Arthur into conversation at some point while Gwaine was gone, so Gwaine steps in just long enough to announce that he’s getting some air. Arthur waves him away with one regal hand, and Gwaine has half a mind to dump the remainder of Arthur’s stew onto Arthur’s shiny blonde hair, but thinks better of it. Merlin is probably the only one with any sort of chance at doing that without Arthur hauling them off for execution.

Gwaine exits out the front door of the tavern, and sits on the step outside. The moon hangs heavy and full in the sky. An occasional cloud scuttle across the darkness, illuminated at the edges by the moonlight, but otherwise the sky remains clear. Stars spread above him like a glittering tapestry, and Gwaine tilts his head back, eyes closed, as a cool breeze blows through the streets. It works to drop some of the heat building on his skin.

He’s never felt this unsettled in his life. Sure, he fell apart when Sophia left him, but Gwaine hadn’t felt unsettled by it. It had, even then, made a kind of sense. He could cast himself as the tragic hero, the one who must swear never to love again because of a betrayal so strong. He’d had a proper beginning, middle, and end with Sophia, even if it all came about because of her Sidhe magic. He hasn’t had any of that with Merlin.

This thing with Merlin feels all jumbled up, happening in the wrong order. The betrayal came first this time, and their first kiss was also their goodbye kiss. Even if it turns out that he and Merlin are only suited to being friends, Gwaine still wants a chance at a beginning, middle, and end. Merlin came barreling into his life, and Gwaine isn’t ready to let go of him just yet.

“No sense pining.” He mutters to himself, and adjusts his position on the stairs so the stone isn’t digging into his back quite so badly anymore.

He just has to take this one step at a time. Tomorrow they’ll reach Camelot. From there, Arthur will gather his remaining knights to him, and they’ll return to Ealdor with horses and proper weapons. Gwaine doesn’t let himself think any further than that. He can’t worry about whether or not they’ll win the battle against Sophia when they get there, it would drive him mad. 

They’ll cross the bridge when they get to it. No use worrying about something that may or may not come to pass. He just has to take it day by day.

He takes a sip of his ale, and scrunches up his face at the taste. It doesn’t get any better the more you drink it, unfortunately. It still tastes like piss, even after the third gulp. Ah well, at least it was cheap.

The moonlight glints off the surface of the drink, and Gwaine watches the reflection ripple with every shift of his mug. It’s almost meditative, tilting his mug this way and that to see how the reflection shifts and warps.

He raises the mug to his lips, and is about to take a sip when he hears his name hissed from between clenched teeth. Whoever it is, it sounds like someone trying to get his attention from somewhere in the distance without being noticed by anyone else. Gwaine looks around wildly for the source of the voice, but spots no one. 

He drops his hand to his sword, and calls out, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

“Check your ale.” The voice says.

Gwaine looks down into his mug, and nearly drops it in surprise. The moonlight no longer reflects off the surface of the drink. Instead it’s been replaced by Merlin’s face. His eyes are a little shadowed, and his cheeks are a little sunken in, but otherwise he seems unharmed.

“I’m hallucinating.” Gwaine says aloud to no one in particular.

The Merlin in his mug grins, and damn if it isn’t nice to see that smile again, “You saw me throw nearly thirty men off their feet with a wave of my hand, and you think you’re hallucinating?”

“In all fairness, I always thought scrying was an entirely different skill set.” Gwaine argues, and Merlin huffs a little laugh at that.

“I’m not usually patient enough to sit still for the time it takes to make the connection, but well, I have nothing but time these days.” Merlin explains, and gestures one hand around his surroundings.

All Gwaine can see is Merlin’s face and a bit of the ceiling, but he can probably assume that Merlin is being held in that smoke house again. If Gwaine never sees another smoke house again it’ll be too soon, and he was only there for a about a day. He can’t imagine what Merlin will think of them, or Hunith for that matter.

“We left your mother in Longstead with her family.” 

Merlin nods, looking relieved, “Good, She should be safe there.”

“Merlin, how are you contacting me right now?”

“Scrying?” Merlin asks uncertainly.

Gwaine shakes his head, and has to flick some hair out of his face for the trouble, “No. I mean. Sophia knows about your magic. Surely she hasn’t just left you to use it at will.”

“They let me bathe sometimes, and this time Leon was the one who brought me the water. He took off the cuffs so I could contact you.”

“Good man, that Leon.”

“He tries.” Merlin agrees, and his eyes flick away from Gwaine briefly, probably to check on the door, “Look, I don’t have long. I have to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

“You can’t come back to Ealdor.” Merlin says seriously, “Sophia’s power is growing. I don’t think the entire army of Camelot could take her on now. Stay away, don’t come for me.”

“Arthur’s right, you are an idiot.”

“Gwaine—”

“No, Merlin, listen.” Gwaine says sharply, “Arthur and I both owe you our lives. We aren’t just going to leave you abandoned in a smokehouse to be a part of Sophia’s evil scheme.”

“She knows you’ll come back for me! She’ll set up a trap!”

“So we avoid it.” Gwaine dismisses and waves his hand a bit like Arthur does. They really have spent way too much time together. “We are coming back for you, my friend.”

“You listened to me that day in Ealdor, why won’t you listen to me now?” Merlin asks, eyes wide and desperate even in the distorted image in Gwaine’s drink.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t be stuck there. We couldn’t win, not then, but we can with Camelot’s help.”

“Gwaine—”

“Merlin. Just stay strong, alright?”

“Please—” Merlin starts, but he’s cut off by a loud bang.

There are a clamor of voices, and Gwaine swears he can hear one of them say, “How did he get those cuffs off?” Merlin’s face moves out of range of whatever he’s using for scrying, and there’s some shouting. All Gwaine can do is watch in horror, as hands reach across the image to grab at Merlin’s delicate wrists.

Merlin’s face appears back in the image, teeth gritted against the onslaught, “Don’t come for me!” he shouts.

“What! Merlin! What’s going on?” Gwaine shouts back, but he gets no answer. He hears the sounds of manacles clicking shut, and hen the image vanishes from his drink as though it was never there, spell abruptly ended.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, just staring into his mug, hoping Merlin will suddenly reappear. When he can finally admit to himself that it isn’t going to happen, Gwaine tosses back the rest of his drink, and clambers to his feet. The inside of the tavern is stifling when he reenters, and Lancelot and Arthur are still sitting at the table where he left them. Lancelot looks up as he approaches, and something in his face must spell danger, because Lancelot’s already serious eyes go even more serious.

“What’s happened?” he asks as Gwaine sits down.

“I heard from Merlin.” Gwaine says darkly.

Arthur sits up straight, eyes wide with hope and fear both, “What did he say?”

“He told us not to come back for him.”

“And you told him he’s an idiot, and we’re coming anyway?” Arthur demands.

“Course I did.”

“That’s not all though,” Lancelot says softly, “is it?”

Gwaine shakes his head, jaw clenched in anger, “They’re keeping him in cold iron.”

“Cold iron?” Arthur asks, “Why does it matter what metal the shackles are made of?”

“Merlin was born with magic, you heard what Hunith said. Cold iron suppresses magic, and if it comes innate to Merlin, then they may as well be cutting off the circulation to his whole being.” Gwaine says, clenching the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turn white.

Next to him, Arthur stiffens. And his eyes turn flinty with anger, “I am going to pay back everything that Sophia has done to him tenfold.”

“That is a plan that I can get behind.” Gwaine agrees, “She’s going to wish she never even heard Merlin’s name.”

Lancelot shakes his head, takes a deep pull from his mug, and sets it back down, “This is going to be a disaster.”

“To the noblest of disasters.” Gwaine says, and raises his empty mug. Arthur raises his as well, and Lancelot joins, even as he looks a little pained.

They’re going to rescue Merlin. Whether he likes it or not.


	10. Chapter 10

The walls of Camelot’s citadel rise in front of them, shining white in the midday sun. The castle turrets poke into the blue of sky, looking like they might just reach the sky. It might be the most beautiful thing Gwaine has ever seen. That might also just be the relief talking. Being here brings them one step closer to their goal of rescuing Merlin, and anything that brings them closer to that is going to be beautiful in his books.

Arthur must be feeling the same, because he slows to a stop in the path leading up to the gate, and takes a second to tilt his head back, eyes closed. He takes a few deep breaths, as though trying to center himself, then takes in a deep breath. When he refocuses on the path, he looks far more like the king Gwaine first met. He carries himself differently here, as though he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and is trying to show that the weight does not make his shoulders slump. Gwaine can admire that. His own response to hardship has been to party until he can pretend it’s not happening. He supposes that’s the difference between being raised to one day be king, and being raised because it was required.

“Come on.” Arthur says shortly, and strides down the path.

As Gwaine and Lancelot follow, Gwaine is taken by a sense of déjà vu. Over a year ago, he was charging through these gates, intent on beheading King Arthur if that’s what it took in order to get Sophia back. Now here he is, following in the wake of the very king he once vowed to destroy. He has allies in Camelot, and a new friend by his side. One thing hasn’t changed since the last time though, he’s still in love, or as close as you can be after a month of living in each other’s pockets.

“State your purpose!” one of the guards calls out to them, already hefting his spear in one hand.

Gwaine takes a second to take stock of the situation, and he can admit that if he were a noble guard whose king has been missing for nearly six months, he too would be suspicious of any unidentifiable strangers entering the city. It doesn’t help that Lancelot is the least ragged of the group. He wasn’t held in a cell at any point, so he’s bathed the most recently, and he hasn’t seen a harrowing escape through the woods either, so his clothes aren’t torn. Himself and Arthur, on the other hand. Gwaine’s hair is tangled, he has a hole in his shirt, dirt is caked under his finger nails, and he has at least one bruise forming from where he got hit. Arthur’s hair is equally tangled, and dirty, missing the golden shine Gwaine remembers from their first meeting. He has a scratch along one cheek, and he’s down to just his shirt, no jacket. 

In short they look like vagabonds, and there’s no reason the guard should recognize them.

Arthur slips something from beneath his shirt, and holds it out to the guard as he approaches. It glints in the midday sun, and Gwaine realizes that he’s holding out a ring. It must be a recognizable one, or one of some importance for Arthur to keep it hidden like that, especially under Sophia’s influence. The guard takes one look at it, and his eyes visibly widen, even with his face partially obscured by both distance and his helmet. 

He bows low, and says in a tremulous voice, “I’m terribly sorry, Sire. I didn’t recognize you. You’ve been away a long time.”

“No harm done.” Arthur says, and even his voice sounds different, carrying the cultured ease of authority instead of sounding like any old bloke could run into in the tavern, “Do me a favor, send a runner to the castle. I want Lady Morgana alerted to my arrival. If she isn’t the first to find out, she’ll take my head and I would prefer to avoid that for all involved.”

“Of course, My Lord.” The guard says with another bow, and takes off running.

“Who’s Lady Morgana?” Lancelot asks curiously as they begin their exhausted trudge through the lower town.

“A harpy.” Arthur grumbles, but he smiles a little, the first one Gwaine has seen form him that isn’t mocking or cruel, “Also my half-sister, and my court sorceress.”

“I didn’t know Camelot had a Court Sorceress.” Gwaine butts in.

Arthur shrugs one shoulder, “She ran away to the druids a few years ago, and refused to return to Camelot until the ban was lifted. Our father was furious, but I told him he had lost the trail and wouldn’t be able to bring her back. She found out that I lifted the ban, and came home. It’s one of the reasons I was so angry about Merlin not telling me. Though, now, I think he probably got it into his head that telling me the truth would wound me in some way, and was prepared to be the self-sacrificial moron he always is, and never live out in the open.”

“Sounds like Merlin.” Gwaine agrees.

This the Merlin who walked all the way from Essetir to Caerleon and back just to make sure his mother is okay. This is the Merlin who stayed behind to make sure that his best friend, and a man he only just met got to safety. Gwaine has a feeling that when Arthur and Merlin finally get to talk, Arthur is going to learn a lot about what Merlin has done for him over their time together. 

No one in the lower town looks at them twice as they approach the castle. They must all fit right in in their worn clothes, and general bedraggled appearance. Gwaine is pleased to see that for the most part, the people of Camelot are well fed. He would have thought Sophia would have starved the lot of them just for her own satisfaction. The mysterious Lady Morgana must have done well to keep everyone safe in Arthur’s absence.

By the time the reach the courtyard, to women come tearing out of the castle itself. One is tall, dark-haired, and regal, with skin so pale it could put the moon to shame. She wears a green silk dress that she hitches up in order to be able to run better. Next to her is a woman who is a bit shorter, with warm brown skin, and lovely curly hair pulled back into a clip her dress is more practical, lilac with an apron over the top. She runs just as fast as the first woman.

The first woman launches herself at Arthur, and he gets one arm up around her in time to prevent them both tumbling down onto the cobblestone below. She squeezes him so tightly that Gwaine is half-convinced this is just a very elaborate assassination attempt.

“You arrogant, stupid, foolhardy…” she’s yelling.

“Morgana,” Arthur says with a mix of relief and irritation that is only possible when talking to a sibling, “I’m fine, except that I rather need air. So if you would be so kind as to get off of me.”

Lady Morgana draws away, still glaring, but she squeezes his hand one last time, “I dreamt that we would never be able to reach you.”

The way she says dreamed, like it was more than a nightmare, sparks Gwaine’s curiosity. Must be a magic thing, if she’s the court sorceress. 

“As usual, Merlin bumbled his way in and messed things up. For once I am grateful for that talent.” Arthur explains.

Arthur’s eyes shift to the other woman standing next to Lady Morgana, and he drops his gaze in something close to guilt. The woman can’t meet his eyes either, twisting her hands in apron nervously. 

“It’s good to see you in one piece, Sire.” The woman says softly.

Arthur reaches out a tentative hand, and Gwaine never thought Arthur of all people could be tentative, and frees one of her hands from its nervous tangle in her apron, “I am so sorry, Guinevere.”

The name sounds familiar, and it takes Gwaine a second to place it. At the time they’d called her Gwen, but this must be the woman that Arthur mentioned not having the chance to propose to yet. It clicks then, why they’re both so nervous. Arthur had left for a trip, and returned with a fiancé in tow. Gwen must have been heartbroken if they reached the portion of their courtship where Arthur was considering marriage. She had to watch him fall in love with someone else, and Gwaine knows how much that hurts, even if it’s now clear that it was an enchantment the whole time.

“It’s quite alright.” Guinevere (Gwen?) says with a nervous little chuckle.

Arthur shakes his head vehemently, and gives her hand a firm squeeze, “No. I behaved atrociously. I love you, but it must have seemed like I didn’t with the way I disregarded you. Please, please know that none of this was your fault, and that I was not in my right mind when I made the choice I did. Sophia has powerful magic, and it wasn’t until she got bored of me that she broke the enchantment she had me under. None of this was your fault, and I am sorry for the pain I put you through.”

Her face loses some of the nervousness, becoming sweet and relieved. She smiles, and it’s nearly as bright as Merlin’s, and she tosses her arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling him in tight to her. Arthur wraps his arms around her just as tight, and it’s like they were made to fit there.

“I was so worried about you.” She says, squeezing her eyes shut, “I thought you were enchanted, but I couldn’t be sure. Then you went riding off with her, and I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again.”

“I’m so sorry.” Arthur murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Gwaine sees what Merlin does then. Arthur might be a pain in the ass, a self-entitled ass at times as well. An all-around prat, as Merlin put it when they were in that smokehouse together. Arthur is also kind, loyal, even noble. It’s in the way he wanted to go charging back for Merlin right away even though most nobles would have just left him behind without a care because they view the lives of servants as less. It’s in the way he lied to his own father, the king, to keep Morgana safe with the druids. It’s in the way he holds Guinevere-Gwen now, and apologizes to her even though this whole situation wasn’t even his fault. Gwaine understands why Merlin would follow him, understands why Lancelot wants to be given the chance to follow him. 

His relationship with Arthur will probably never be smooth, for one thing ruffling his feathers is far too much fun, but perhaps it might be time to forgive and forget. It’s clear that whoever Arthur was under Sophia’s influence, it wasn’t himself. They’ve both been hollowed out by her, turned into puppets in a grand scheme that neither of them wanted to be a part of. Gwaine has built camaraderie on less, with people who are far more insufferable than Arthur.

Guinevere-Gwen and Arthur finally disentangle from their embrace, and she wrinkles her nose at him, “You need a bath. I’ll get one of the maids to do it since I’m sure you’ve worked poor Merlin ragged.”

Once more, Arthur’s gaze shifts away from her, guilt making his shoulders slump. He doesn’t say a word, and Gwaine exchanges a look with Lancelot. Neither of them know what to say either. Lancelot has never met Merlin, he can’t be the one to break the news. Gwaine knows Merlin fairly well after practically being attached to him for a month, but he doesn’t know Lady Morgana or Guinevere-Gwen. It isn’t his place to break the news either. It has to come from Arthur.

Lady Morgan squints at Arthur suspiciously, and places her hands on her hips. They may only be half siblings, but Gwaine can see the family resemblance in the way they carry themselves.

“What happened?” she demands.

“He didn’t make it out. We were almost to the woods, but someone raised the alarm.” Arthur says tiredly, like he’s been dreading explaining this to the two women in front of him, “Merlin stayed behind to give us a chance to escape.”

Lady Morgana sucks in some air, and she looks about two seconds from flying into a rage, “So you left him there!”

“I didn’t want to!” Arthur shouts, “Damn it, Morgana, you know Merlin is my best friend! I would never leave him if I had any other choice!”

Guinevere-Gwen has her jaw set in stubborn defiance, but Gwaine can see the tears starting to glitter in her eyes. Merlin really downplayed how important he was to these people, how loved he is. It makes him wonder if Merlin even knows how much.

“We’re going back to get him.” Gwaine blurts out before Lady Morgana can pick up speed with her berating of Arthur.

She and Guinevere-Gwen both turn to look at him and Lancelot, and they were clearly so focused on Arthur’s return that they didn’t even notice his two companions. Lady Morgana looks over them with critical eyes, and it makes Gwaine shiver despite the bright sunshine beating down on all their heads. He feels like she could read his very soul if she was so inclined.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“Gwaine of Caerleon.” Gwaine introduces, and holds his hand out. It isn’t the proper way to greet a Lady, but he thinks if he tried to kiss Lady Morgana’s hand, she would castrate him.

She shake his hand, still just looking at him, “How did you get involved with my brother.”

“Long story,” Gwaine says, “but in short, Merlin brought me with him to Ealdor.”

“All the way from Caerleon?”

“Yup.”

“You tow must have become friends, then.”

“I like to think so. I’m rather fond of him.”

An approving gleam enters Lady Morgana’s eye, and she nods, “Then you are welcome in Camelot.” And moves on to wrangle the same kind of information from Lancelot.

Guinevere-Gwen holds out her hands next, her eyes much kinder, and says, “Only Arthur calls me Guinevere, call me Gwen.”

Gwaine bends low, takes her hand in his, and brushes a kiss across her knuckles, “A beautiful name for a beautiful princess.”

Gwen lets out a rather unladylike snort, and grins at him, “I’m not a princess, but I will give you points for deciding to flirt with me when the man I love is armed and standing right next to me. That takes an extraordinary amount of bravery, or stupidity.” 

“It’s stupidity.” Arthur growls, and when Gwaine looks at him, he’s actually scowling.

“It’s all in good fun.” Gwaine assures him, “You know as well as I do this isn’t where my affections lie.”

Once the introductions to Lancelot are done with, Lady Morgana shuffles them all inside with the determination of an army general. They can’t ride for Ealdor immediately anyway, so they take a few hours to rest. Gwaine bathes in an actual tub, with fresh warm water, and it feels so good that he temporarily forgets that he was the one who abandoned the life of nobility. He’s provided with cast off clothes of some of the knights, and has a filling lunch of bread and cheese. By the time a servant arrives to escort him to the great hall, he feels human again instead of just walking streak of grime.

Lancelot arrives at the same time he does, and the two of them enter together. Arthur is already sitting at the head of the table, looking like a king once more. Lady Morgana sits to his left, and Gwen sits to his right. Gwaine rushes forward to take the seat next to Gwen, leaving Lancelot to take the seat next to Morgana. She may be Merlin’s friend, but that doesn’t mean Gwaine isn’t terrified of her. Lancelot shoots him a look that clearly says he knows exactly what Gwaine is doing, then takes his seat next to her like a proper gentleman. 

“We need to go back to Ealdor.” Arthur says once everyone is sitting, “It isn’t just for Merlin either, though that is our main objective. Sophia has control over all the knights I took with me on my quest for Emrys, except for Leon. She could decide to attack Camelot at any point, and we’d lose more than just our friend.”

“Small problem,” Lady Morgana interjects, “all the knights are either in Ealdor, or spread thin on patrol. We don’t have anyone to invade with.” 

“You’re the one who yelled at me for leaving Merlin behind!” Arthur says indignantly.

“That was before I knew that Sophia was so powerful.”

“We aren’t out of men.” Gwaine says, putting a stop to the building argument before it can get rolling. The grateful look Gwen sends him makes him think their arguments are regular occurrences. “We have three swordsmen sitting at this table.”

“That isn’t enough to take Ealdor.” Arthur dismisses, but Lady Morgana gets a sly grin on her face.

She leans forward, eyes bright, “We have three swordsmen, two swordswomen, and a High Priestess of the Old Religion.”

“You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.” Arthur says warningly, but now Gwen has a determined look on her face to match Morgana’s.

“We did it once, no reason we can’ do it again.” 

“You want to go with us.” Gwaine realizes, “You were there the day Merlin and Arthur drove Kanen out.”

“We were, and I didn’t have the gifts I have now.” Morgana says, evil grin tugging at her lips, “I think it’s time for another battle of Ealdor.”


	11. Chapter 11

“How did you and Merlin get in the first time?” Arthur asks that night as they’re sitting around the campfire. 

Despite Morgana and Lancelot’s insistence that they wait long enough to return to Ealdor to make an actual plan, Arthur insisted they ride out as soon as they’d all gad a rest and some proper food. Gwaine has backed him up on that decision, after all, he doesn’t want to know what Merlin is suffering under at Sophia’s hand. If she figures out that he’s Emrys, all hell is going to break loose. The longer Merlin stays there, the more likely it is for him to be found out, and Gwaine can’t let that happen. Besides he’s gotten into fights when he’s been in worse shape than he is now. Once, before joining Caerleon, he’d fought of four men when he had a broken nose and two fractured ribs.

Of course, those men hadn’t had incredibly powerful magic on their side.

“We slipped in between the guard rotation.” Gwaine answers, “They passed he border of the woods every twenty minutes or so, so we waited until they passed, and snuck by.”

Gwen sends him a disbelieving little glance, forehead furrowed, “I would have expected it to be more heavily guarded than that.”

Gwaine shrugs, “I’m, just telling you what I know. Merlin was luring me into a trap at that point so perhaps the guard was lowered for that reason.”

“I remember everything I did when I was under her spell, even if it is a bit hazy.” Arthur responds with a little shake of his head, “I don’t recall ever asking for guard rotations to be that spread apart.”

“Why was Merlin leading you into a trap?” Lancelot asks, “I thought he was your friend.”

“Merlin is an idiot.” Arthur grumbles, but Gwaine can hear the worry laced through his voice. Merlin is like a brother to Arthur, and it’s apparent that the choice to leave Merlin behind was not an easy one. Arthur has been beating himself up about it since they left Ealdor, and it’s part of the reason Gwaine has been so willing to forgive him. The more time he spends with Arthur, the clearer it becomes that he was right to assume Arthur is not the same man who was under Sophia’s spell.

“This one,” Gwaine says, nodding in Arthur’s direction, “got himself enchanted by Sophia. She wanted his help tracking down Emrys, but was an old cow about it when he couldn’t find him. Apparently she kept using me as a comparison point, and that made enchanted Arthur think it was a good idea to send Merlin to go get me.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Gwen says with a little disapproving sigh.

Across the fire from Gwaine, Morgana hides her laughter in the duck of her head. She reminds Gwaine a bit of his sister in the way she enjoys irritating Arthur to wit’s end, but there’s something about the way she cares so deeply that makes her unlike any relative of Gwaine’s. She is strong, and a bit scary, but she wants justice to be done. The only people allowed to make fun of Arthur are the people who have earned their place in his inner circle, anyone else would no doubt have a knife pulled on them faster than they could blink.

Arthur glares at her, “Stop laughing. If it was you enchanted, I wouldn’t be laughing.”

“That’s because I am a wonderful person.” Morgana teases, smile crinkling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Arthur responds, “Don’t forget, I’ve known you since you were twelve. I remember all the times you slipped slimy things into the pockets of lords.”

“Only the creepy ones.” Morgana says with an amused raise of her eyebrows.

Lancelot clears his throat softly to get their attention, “Planning?”

“You brought this on yourself. You’re the one who asked why Merlin was leading me into a trap.” Gwaine points out, rubbing his hands together in front of the fire to warm them. 

Lancelot closes his eyes briefly, and shakes his head, then promptly ignores Gwaine in favor of looking at Arthur, “Sire, what would your plan be?”

“I think our only option is to try to draw the guards off somehow.” Arthur responds, “We need to be able to sneak in undetected if we want to come through this unscathed.”

“Perhaps if we start a fire?” Gwen suggests.

The look Arthur sends her is so proud and loving that Gwaine feels physically ill, “A fire might work if we can build it large enough.”

“Not to rain on your plans, but a minor fire won’t be enough to draw them all off. You’ll need something much larger before they all go to take care of it. I don’t think we’ll have the time or supplies to build a funeral pyre.” Gwaine says, “I learned that the hard way when I was trying to fight bandits for Caerleon.”

“So we use magic. Flame is one of the easier elements to command. I haven’t done it before, but I know the wording to conjure a column of fire.” Morgana offers.

Arthur shakes his head, eyes squinted slightly in focus, “No. We need you when we inevitably ake on Sophia. We need your magic.”

“Why aren’t we planning on Merlin to do that?” Gwaine asks.

They all stare at him like he’s mad, even Arthur who saw Merlin’s magic for himself. 

“Merlin can’t find his own backside most days. I doubt the control on his magic is very good.” Arthur responds, like this is the most obvious reason in the world.

Gwaine rolls his eyes, “Merlin is Emrys.”

Again he’s met with a wall of silence. Then Morgana jumps to her feet, and the campfire seems to twist with her, echoing the emotions flitting across her face. Gwaine can see anger, exasperation, even fear. Her hands are clenched into fists at her side, and Gwaine is half worried that she’s going to leap across the fire and punch him herself.

“He can’t be!” she says, and it comes out almost as a shriek.

“My lady,” Gwaine starts then falters at Morgana’s glare, “Morgana,” he tries and the glare softens by a few degrees, “Think about it. Merlin told us that Emrys wasn’t an artifact, but a person. His own mother admitted that he’s had magic since he was a child. Merlin has been at Arthur’s side for three years, almost four. Arthur has no doubt made miraculous survivals, and he’s on better terms with all the five kingdoms than any king before him. Then all of a sudden, a Sidhe shows up and marries Arthur in search of Emrys? She somehow tacks down Emrys right to Merlin’s home town where he was working at the time? Merlin is Emrys.”

“That little coward!” Morgana shuts, “I told him I had magic, and he sent me to the druids! He could have taught me himself, but he sent me away!”

“And probably saved your life!” Arthur interjects.

Morgana opens her mouth to argue some more, but Gwen places a calming hand on her arm, and tugs her gently back down to the log they were sitting on, “Think about it Morgana, Uther was still in power then, and according to what Arthur told us, Merlin’s been hiding this since birth. He probably didn’t know how to teach you, and didn’t know what it was like to learn to control it. He took you somewhere safe, even though it put him at risk.”

“He let me feel as though I was alone.” Morgana says darkly, “He knew what it was like to have magic, and he still didn’t tell me.”

“My lady,” Lancelot says gently, and Gwaine notices that he doesn’t receive a glare for the title, “as much as it may pain us, no one us their secrets. I may not know Merlin, but I do know what fear does to people. Uther was terrifying, and we all got very lucky that he had that stroke when he did, no offense, Sire. The fact that Merlin was still willing to help, even though he was scared for his life, speaks volumes to the kind of person he is.”

That takes the wind out of Morgana’s sails, and her stiff posture relaxes a little, “I suppose I was afraid too. I was desperate enough to consider killing Uther myself once or twice. I probably would have gone through with it if Merlin hadn’t found the druids to take me in.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Arthur flinch at the mention of murdering their father. The fact that he doesn’t shout at her about it, when it clearly upsets him, only raises Gwaine’s respect for him. It couldn’t have been easy to learn that your father was a genocidal madman, and have to choose between him and your own sister. Arthur carries arrogance in every fiber of his being, but he clearly knows who to surround himself with so that it doesn’t get in his way. 

“So we have the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth on our side,” Arthur says, changing the subject away from Morgana’s anger, “and he’s locked in a damn smokehouse in the middle of the village.”

“And locked in cold iron.” Gwaine supplies helpfully.

Arthur sends him an exasperated look, and Gwaine grins at him. It was an important detail. They couldn’t afford to miss it, not when they’re going to need both Morgana and Merlin on their side to pull this off. If Gwaine delivered that information in a way he knew would irritate Arthur, well, only Arthur and Gwaine will know.

The fire crackles, and a few sparks wend their way towards the sky. It reminds Gwaine of the night he and Merlin sat by the fire together after the bandit attack. He’d compared Merlin to the sparks then thinking him bright, and quick with hidden potential. Now he knows that the potential wasn’t in the background, waiting around for Merlin to step into destiny. It was being hidden, tucked away safely so that no one would see that destiny turned with Merlin’s choices. 

He can’t imagine the pressure Merlin must be under. Gwaine has a feeling that Merlin hiding his magic from Morgana had even more to do with Merlin wanting to remain regular old Merlin in her eyes. Knowing he had magic would change her perception of him, and if she had found out just how powerful he truly is, he would have become her mentor. He wouldn’t get to be a regular young man running around after Arthur with only moments of hidden brilliance. Merlin is sparks because if he allowed himself to be flames, the world would never be the same.

“Then we need to get Merlin out.” Gwen says, keeping their discussion on track, “How do we do that?”

“That knight.” Gwaine says, sitting up straighter as he remembers, “Leon. He’s bound to have the keys, and he’s on our side.”

“One of us would need to get a message to him.” Lancelot says hesitantly, “Someone who can go unnoticed. I could do it?”

“No. Leon doesn’t know you, and neither does Merlin. They may not trust your intentions.” Arthur says, “You’re better served by fighting with us.”

“I’ll do it.” Gwaine volunteers, “Leon knows me. Even if he doesn’t recognize me without a layer of dirt, Merlin will.”

“Are you capable of subtlety?” Arthur asks skeptically.

“Do you really think I would put Merlin in danger to satisfy my own ego?”

“Fair enough.”

Gwaine leans forward, and scratches a map of Ealdor into the dirt with the tip of his sword. He has to stop several times to remember the exact way Merlin sketched it out the night they entered, but he thinks he gets it right in the end. He repeats the same information that Merlin gave him that night too about the abandoned buildings and things like that.

“I think we should set the fire here.” Morgana says, tapping one perfectly trimmed nail in the dirt, “It’s the furthest from the smoke house.”

“The fighters should come in behind, here.” Arthur says, indicating a point several feet back, “It isn’t the most honorable way of fighting, but when you’re outnumbered, the element of surprise is important.”

“I’ll come in from here.” Gwaine says, indicating the point he and Merlin entered from the first time, “The further away from the guards I am, the less likely I am to draw their attention. I’ll make a break directly for the smokehouse.”

“How do we know that Leon will be there?” Morgana asks, “Only the druids can do mind speak, and only to other magic people. I won’t be able to send him a message.”

“Leon has been looking for a way to get Merlin to safety. A distraction this big so soon after we left Merlin behind? He’ll probably assume it’s us and come running to unlock it.” Arthur explains.

“Then what’s the point of sending Gwaine?” Lancelot questions.

“We need Merlin to kill Sophia.” Arthur says grimly, “Leon’s goal will be to get Merlin to safety, and while I wish that was the plan, we need him if we have any hope of freeing our men from her enchantment. Gwaine will be there to deliver that message, or if we’re wrong about Leon being there, break down the door to get to Merlin if necessary.”

“I’ll send him to fight with you as soon as I get Merlin free.” Gwaine promises.

“We need as many swordsmen as we can get, even with Morgana’s help.”

“I know, but Merlin is going to be weak. He needs someone to watch his back when he goes up against Sophia. Leon has fought alongside you more than I have, and you need someone who can follow your directions without thinking. He should fight with you, and I should fight with Merlin.”

Arthur nods tiredly, and drags a hand over his face, “This is as good a plan as any I suppose.”

“You don’t seem very pleased.” Gwen points out, looking concerned.

“I just wish I wasn’t putting the people closest to me in danger again.” Arthur admits.

Even Morgana softens at that admission, losing some of the calculating edge she always carries. She pats Arthur’s knee, comforting in the best way she can. Gwen gets up so she can sit on Arthur’s log, and he tucks her under his arm. 

Gwaine feels an odd flare of jealousy at that. It isn’t that he wants to take one or the other away from each other, but he wants what they have. He wants to be able to tuck Merlin under his arm like he did those few times they traveled together, only this time with the acknowledgement that there is something more between them. He wants a chance to redo that awful kiss they had before Gwaine was forced to flee, a chance to fall as sickeningly in love as Gwen and Arthur are. 

Gwen balances Arthur, and Arthur balances her. Gwen’s kindness, and gentle nature, forces Arthur to forgo some of the coldness he takes on as king. His stubbornness and analytical mind brings out Gwen’s ability to hold her ground, and call for justice. They are better for having been in each other’s lives.

Gwaine thinks Merlin might balance him out as well. Granted, it seems like Merlin acts like his common sense more than anything else, but it is something that Gwaine lacks quite often. He hopes he provides Merlin a place to be himself, uncomplicated by the machinations of magic and destiny. He wants to be a place where Merlin can simply breathe. 

He’s well aware that it’s mad to be pondering all this. He’s only known Merlin a month, and only known all of Merlin’s secrets for about a week. The thing is, Merlin showed the most concern for Gwaine out of anyone he’s ever met. Merlin was smart, snarky, and a little prickly, but he was also kind and caring. He might be the first proper friend Gwaine has ever had, and for once Gwaine has enough common sense not to go running in the opposite direction when he’s starting to feel things. If he and Merlin are meant to live to be an old married couple, then Gwaine is more than pleased to have that happen. If he and Merlin are meant to be fast friends, fighting side by side for honor or justice, or some other concept, he’ll be pleased with that outcome as well. Merlin isn’t getting out of this mess. Not any time soon anyway.

They all spread out on the forest floor near the fire, only their various capes and cloaks to use as bedding. The decision was made to leave behind bed rolls and anything else that might slow their horses down. They packed enough food for the journey, and the weapons they needed, but pots, blankets, bedrolls, and the like were all left behind.

As Gwaine settles onto the cape he borrowed form one of the knights, he can hear a horse whinny just off to the side of their camp. It reminds him of all the times he and Merlin worked silently in tandem around camp on the way to Ealdor; Merlin cooking food, Gwaine tending to the horses. By this time tomorrow, he’ll have Merlin with him again. That, or they’ll all be dead, but Gwaine chooses not to focus on that potential outcome. Although, considering how angry Morgana was at Merlin for not telling her about his magic, he thinks Merlin might prefer dying at Sophia’s hand, it might genuinely be less painful than whatever Morgana has in store for him as revenge. Morgana seems the type to think out elaborately planned out torture scenarios when she’s wronged.

Regardless, Gwaine will see Merlin tomorrow, and he’ll fight like hell to make sure he sees Merlin the day after as well.


	12. Chapter 12

Advancing on Ealdor in broad daylight is strange to say the least. The plan was to attack as soon as they arrived, but somehow he didn’t register that that meant it was going to be midmorning when they throw their plan into action. It’s going to make sneaking across the village to the smokehouse that much harder, and Gwaine prays that Lady Morgana’s distraction is enough to draw everyone away. He doesn’t fancy his chances against more than a few of the guards, especially now that he knows they were once Knights of Camelot. They’re deadly at the best of times, let alone when all free will has been stripped from them by a conniving Sidhe.

Arthur stops before sneaking off to his position and looks at Gwaine seriously, “If this all starts to fall apart, get Merlin and go. We need someone to survive this.”

“You don’t seem like you have much faith in your abilities.” Gwaine jokes with a strained grin, “Should I be worried?”

“I’m just trying to be practical, and I know Merlin. If he catches wind that any of us might be in danger, he’s likely to come charging after us and throwing our plan into chaos.” 

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t be blamed if he turns me into a toad.”

“If Merlin turns you into a toad,” Arthur says with a little smile, “then I will let you off the hook.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Gwaine threatens.

Arthur doesn’t say anything in response, but he holds his arm out in a familiar gesture. Gwaine clasps Arthur’s forearm, and Arthur clasps his in return. No matter what happens after, they are brother in arms for this moment. They are united behind a common goal, and this is their way of acknowledging that, for his battle at least, they have each other’s backs. Gwaine nods, stiffly, and Arthur releases his grip on Gwaine’s arm. He jogs to catch up with Gwen and Lancelot, and disappears into the trees.

Gwaine creeps into his own position hidden behind a tree right on the line before the woods give way to Ealdor. From here he can see most of the village spread out before him. It’s eerie in the daylight. There should be people out and about doing chores, children should be running through what counts as town square laughing and causing trouble. Instead the town is dead silent except for the steady thump thump of boots on grass as the guards work their patrols. He can see the smokehouse from his angle too, and he digs his fingers into the soft earth around the tree so that he doesn’t give into the ridiculous impulse to go charging in after Merlin.

He has to wait this out. Any deviation from the already tenuous plan, and things could really fall apart. He has to rely on the signal from Arthur and Lady Morgana, no matter how worried he is about Merlin’s health. Lady Morgana said that only druids could utilize mindspeak, but that doesn’t stop Gwaine from trying to send a mental message to Merlin. _We’re here. We’re coming._

Gwaine forces himself to stop looking at the smokehouse, and instead focus on the tree line opposite. He doubts highly that he’ll miss the massive fire that they plan to set, but he isn’t going to risk Merlin’s freedom for his own pride. 

“Come on. Come on.” Gwaine murmurs to himself, “Come on.”

He feels something crackle in the air, and suddenly a column of fire bursts from the tree line opposite. It’s as wide as one of the houses in Ealdor, and three times as tall. It roars, and kicks up its own wind that tosses Gwaine’s hair despite the fact he’s sitting some distance away. For a moment, all motion in Ealdor stops. Then the shouting begins. Like on the day they escaped, guards come boiling out of nowhere like ants from an ant hill, only this time they are running away from Gwaine.

He stays in position for a few more seconds, and sends a silent prayer for good luck. Anyone mad enough to throw themselves into odds like this is someone Gwaine can get behind, and apparently he’s met four of them. He wants all of them to get out of here, even this Leon he’s only met the once. 

When all the guards have scattered to handle the spreading fire encroaching steadily on the village itself, Gwaine makes a break for it. The wind whips passed him, and there are a few moments when his hair flies dangerously close to his face, and he’s afraid he might trip. His heart beats steadily in his ears, drowning out the world around him. The smokehouse grows steadily larger, and Gwaine’s breath catches in his throat. He’s so close to getting to Merlin, won’t be a minute now.

No one is standing outside of the door when Gwaine arrives, and he casts about desperately for something he can use to break the lock that’s been fitted to the door. He really thought Leon would be here when he arrived, but there’s no guarantee that Sophia didn’t figure out Leon’s role in all of this. It’s entirely possible that Leon is there right alongside Merlin. Gwaine spots a hatchet someone left out, and judging by the rust, it’s been out for a while. One of the villagers must have left it behind when Sophia and Arthur arrived. He sprints to the stump it’s leaning against, picks it up, and prepares to swing it at the lock on the door to the smokehouse. How they intend to get Merlin’s cuffs off without Leon’s help is a different story altogether. He doesn’t trust himself to hack at anything that close to Merlin’s wrists without accidentally doing some serious damage.

He hefts the hatchet, preparing to swing, but a hand comes to rest on his arm. He swings around wildly, nearly decapitating the person in the process. 

Leon sends him a rather disgruntled look and jingles his keys, “I came as soon as I could get away from Sophia.”

“Sorry. Adrenaline.” Gwaine says by way of explanation. 

Leon shakes his head, but fits the key into the lock. The mechanism pops loose, and Leon frees it from the door. Not willing to wait another second, Gwaine bursts into the smokehouse. It takes him a second to spot Merlin in the darkness, but he finds him pressed into one corner of the room, eyes closed. He looks paler than Gwaine remembers, and very still.

Fearing the worst, Gwaine runs up to him and presses two fingers to the pulse point in Merlin’s neck. Gwaine can hear Leon coming in behind him, shuffling through the keys for the one to release Merlin from the cuffs. Merlin stirs hazily at the press of Gwaine’s fingers, and he opens his eyes. They stare at Gwaine uncomprehendingly for a moment, then a huge grin breaks out across his face. He may be absolutely filthy, but he’s alive.

“I told you not to come back for me.” Merlin points out, but there’s no heat to his voice, just relief.

Gwaine grins back at him, “You know me, I can never stay away from impossible odds.”

Merlin lets out a short burst of a laugh, then leans forward, swaying slightly, and takes a fistful of Gwaine’s shirt. He tugs, gently, and Gwaine leans in like Merlin wants him to. Their lips meet in a loss, and it’s millions of times better than their first. Merlin’s lips are soft under his own, and Merlin presses back with a surprising amount of force.

Merlin pulls back to get some air and shakes his head, “Not only did you ignore me, but you brought Arthur with you again didn’t you?”

“And a few others.” Gwaine admits, and shuffles to the side when he hears a victorious exclamation from Leon.

“Others?”

“The Lady Morgana, Gwen, and a gentleman by the name of Lancelot.”

“Where did you find him?” 

“Cursed Sidhe tavern. I’ll tell you all about it when this is over.”

Leon crouches down in front of Merlin and slides the key into the lock. Merlin’s free hand whips out and takes Leon by the wrist. “Hold on. I just… need a moment. Letting my magic free is going to be a lot.”

“Tell me when you’re ready.” Leon says gently.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, obviously bracing himself for whatever he’s about to feel. After a moment, he nods and says, “Okay. Okay. Go.”

Leon turns the key in the lock, and one of the manacles falls away. He repeats the action on the other one, and the entire mechanism, chains and all, tumbles to the straw beneath their feet. Nothing happens. Gwaine’s heart starts thudding heavily in his chest, panic coursing its way through his chest. His mind is full of what ifs. What if the cold iron damaged Merlin? What if he doesn’t get his magic back? What if they aren’t able to defeat Sophia?

The air is filled with the energy after a lightning storm, heavy and buzzing. Merlin gasps, and arches away from the wall, eyes glowing gold, fingers digging into the dirt below the thin layer of straw. Golden light slips from the earth into his fingertips, and his very veins seem to glow the same brilliant gold as his eyes. Leon and Gwaine have to look away because the gold glows so bright.

“Remind me never to get caught in cold iron again.” Merlin says, and when Gwaine turns back to him, he’s standing. The color has returned to his cheeks, and his shoulders are back, chin tilted proudly upward. 

Gwaine sees it now, how much Merlin kept hidden from others. He doesn’t just have grand power, it is part of him. It flickers in his very being as natural and easy as breathing. The power doesn’t control him anymore than Gwaine does, and it makes sense, suddenly, how this young man could be the one to keep a prophesized king alive and well all by himself for so many years. Gwaine is abruptly hit by the urge to kneel, he doesn’t, but the impulse is still there.

“We have to go.” Gwaine says when he gets his breath back.

“But Arthur—” Merlin starts to protest.

“We aren’t leaving him, but it was agreed that you should take on Sophia. You’re the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. We need that to go against her.”

Merlin nods and makes a break for the door. Gwaine exchanges an exasperated look with Leon, and the two of them follow in his wake. When the three of them emerge into the sunshine once more, it is chaos. The others have fought their way into the village proper, and the guards are failing to keep them at bay. Arthur is quick with his sword as is Lancelot. Morgana hurls spell after spell at them, easily keeping them from landing a blow on her person. Gwen clearly hasn’t been trained to use a sword, but she isn’t unfamiliar with the craft either, and is managing to hold her own against her own attacker.

“Go help Arthur.” Gwaine says, turning to Leon, “They need you. I’m keeping Merlin safe.”

Leon nods, and sprints off, hauling his sword out as he goes, and shouting, “For the love of Camelot!”

“How do we get Sophia to come out and meet us?” Merlin asks, eyeing up the Alderman’s house. 

Gwaine shrugs, and draws his sword, “Issue a challenge she can’t refuse?”

Merlin sends a mischievous grin his way, “That I can do.”

He turns towards the alderman’s house again and, with a flick of his wrist, rips the facing off of the second story. There’s an angry shriek from inside that sounds awfully familiar to Gwaine’s ears, and Sophia steps up to the ledge left behind. Her eyes pulse red, she raises a staff that Gwaine has never seen before, and Merlin is flung like a ragdoll across the grass. He comes to a stop a few feet away, groaning. 

“You alright?” Gwaine calls, keeping his eyes fixed on Sophia.

“Yeah.” Merlin coughs as he comes up to his hands and knees, “I’ll be alright.”

A blast of crackling silver-blue light erupts from Sophia’s staff, and Gwaine just rolls out of the way in time. He can feel the heat of it against his cheeks, and the grass where he was just standing is turned to a black crispy circle. 

“We need that staff!” Merlin shouts, and Gwaine resists the urge to groan.

Why can’t anything be simple? He should just be able to run Sophia through with his sword and be done with it. Trying to wrangle that staff from her sounds a spectacularly bad idea. He may like challenging odds in a fight, but this goes beyond that. Trying to take her on is tantamount to suicide, and he’s rather attached to being alive. Unfortunately for him, Merlin does not seem to have the same sentimental attachment to life that he does.

Merlin is back on his feet, and he throws one hand out. Sophia tumbles away from the ripped open wall, but doesn’t lose her grip on her staff. Another beam erupts from somewhere inside the house, and hey dodge out of its way easier this time because it went wide without a good visual of them.

“We need to get her down here!” Gwaine shouts.

Merlin sends him an apologetic look and asks, “How good are you at sneaking?”

“You’re not about to ask me to do what I think you are, are you?” 

“What? Sneak inside and attack her from behind while I distract her?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Good thing that’s your specialty?” Merlin suggests, hopeful smile plastered on his face. It really isn’t fair that he knows Gwaine so well after this short amount of time. 

“Try not to get burned to a crisp.” Gwaine answers, drawing his sword.

Merlin smiles, and holds his hands up innocently, “I promise only mild singeing at most.”

Gwaine shakes his head, presses a kiss to the corner of Merlin’s lips, and takes off for the entrance to the house. Behind him he can hear Merlin shouting incantations, trying to keep Sophia’s attention focused on him. So much for Merlin being his common sense.

The stairs creak beneath his boots, but the roars of magic in the air, and the sounds from the hand to hand happening at the edge of the village is enough to cover for him. Last time he was here he didn’t even make it beyond the entryway, and therefore has no clue where Sophia might be hiding out. Even when she dragged him up to ask he become her consort, his head was bagged. 

He reaches the landing, and stops to listen. Down the hall to his left he can hear a familiar feminine voice, raised in irritation and anger. As he creeps closer, he can see sunlight spilling out from underneath the door, far brighter than any of the light spilling from the other doors. He’s betting that that’s where Sophia is holed up. 

He turns the knob as gently as he can, and breathes out a little sigh of relief when it doesn’t make a sound. He eases the door open slowly, keeping his eyes on the widening gap. He can see Sophia, and he once again wonders how he ever found her attractive. Her face is screwed with fury, and the gentle beauty she used to lull him is all but gone. She looks distinctly inhuman as she raises her staff. Gwaine slips silently into the room behind her, raising his sword.

His foot catches on some of the debris, and a pile of stone and wood goes crashing to the floor. The spell slinging stops, and Sophia whips around, eyes wide.

“You!” she screams, and Gwaine acts instinctively. 

He dashes across the floor before he can raise her staff. Both his hands land on her shoulders, and she can’t find good purchase to brace herself. Gwaine shoves with all his might, much harder than it seems like he should have to for a woman so slight. A look of surprise crosses Sophia’s face, and she falls backwards out of the gash in the house. She seems suspended in air for a moment, wavy hair flying free around her face. Then she disappears from view.

Gwaine stumbles forward, and leans outside, bracing himself against the remaining bits of the wall. Somehow, Sophia managed to hold onto her staff despite the fall, and she staggers to her feet. For once in her life, there is nothing grateful about it. He knew better than to think the fall would kill her, but there was a small part of him that hoped it would. She’s on the same level as Merlin now, however, and that evens things up far more than before. Merlin is already hurling another spell her way, a nasty fireball the size of her head.

Gwaine ducks back inside, and dashes down the stairs. He may not be able to do much in a show down between powerful creatures of the old religion, but he can’t bear to leave Merlin on his own in this fight. Even if all he can do is irritate Sophia, it still might give Merlin the upper hand in this struggle. He emerges back into the village, and has to dive flat against the grass as a bolt of magic whizzes over his head.

“You’re not going to win, Sophia!” Merlin calls.

Sophia looks away from Gwaine again, focusing back on Merlin. Her mouth quirks up in a nasty smile, and her eyes flash red. Merlin goes flying, and hits the ground with a thud that makes even Gwaine’s bones ache. 

“I think I can handle one meek little sorcerer!” she calls to Merlin, “I’ve hardly broken a sweat!”

Merlin drags himself back to his feet. He doesn’t dignify Sophia’s insult with a response, just raises his hand again, and shouts something in the old tongue. Lightning arcs down from the sky, and Sophia has to dive out of its way to avoid being roasted. Her skirts tangle around her legs, and she struggles to right herself. Her staff lands just out of reach.

Gwaine sets off at a run at the same moment Merlin does. Both of them making to grab the staff before she can. Merlin gets there a second before Gwaine does, but Sophia’s hand darts out and wraps around his ankle. He hits the ground once more, but Gwaine is still on his feet with his sword in his hand. He dives forward and smacks Sophia over her head with the flat of his sword.

Her hand releases on instinct, and Merlin rolls out of her reach. Gwaine dodges Sophia’s flailing hands, and gets his knees on her arms so she can’t try to incant. She spits and screams like a feral thing, trying to buck Gwaine off. 

“I’m not any meek sorcerer,” Merlin says conversationally from above them, “I’m Emrys.”

A look of fear flashes across Sophia’s face. Gwaine throws himself out of the way. There’s a flash of light. A shriek of pain. 

All that remains of Sophia is a pile of golden dust.


	13. Chapter 13

Up ahead, Arthur stands with his head bowed. He’s been talking to the man acting as village elder for the last several minutes, and it’s a little funny to watch. He keeps glancing around the village square, trying to make eye contact with someone, anyone to get him out of it. So far he’s made eye contact with Merlin, Gwen, and Morgana, but they all ignored his silent pleas for help. He’s left rooted to the spot, kingly manners forcing him to hear out what the man is saying. 

Gwaine can admit to being a little pleased. After all, it may not be Arthur’s fault that Sophia controlled his mind, but Ealdor suffered because of it. Arthur is the only one in this situation to do anything about the broken trust between himself and Ealdor, and Gwaine hopes they get a decent amount of reparations out this. Strangely, he trusts Arthur to get that done fairly. He’s proven himself willing to fight for what’s right, and that’s not something you expect from kings these days.

A shadow falls across Gwaine’s face, and when he looks up, Merlin is standing there. He looks much better than he did before. He’s had a chance for a wash in the nearby river and time for a proper meal. He’ll need several days’ proper rest after this, but for now he doesn’t look quite so drawn. His smile is back and as bright as ever, and his face is free of dirt. He holds out a cup of something to Gwaine.

“Can I sit?”

Gwaine takes the cup, and shuffles over a bit to make room for Merlin on the stump. He’d taken the hatchet from this very stump not two hours ago intent on rescuing Merlin at all costs. In the end, Merlin saved them all, but he suspects that that is roughly how these sort of adventures usually work out. Merlin is a power unto himself.

Merlin sits next to him, close enough that their shoulders rub, and takes a sip from his cup. “I wanted to thank you for coming back for me. You didn’t have to, especially after what happened.”

“You’re my friend, Merlin.” Gwaine says with a tired grin, “I haven’t really had many before, but I’m fairly sure the first rule is that you don’t leave your friends in danger if you can help.”

“It was still a good thing to do.” Merlin insists, “I’ll even thank Arthur later, after I get an earful about the magic.”

Gwaine chuckles, “Yeah. He was right annoyed about that.”

“He’s going to be insufferable for days.” Merlin complains.

They lapse into companionable silence after that, too worn out to say anything else. It isn’t one of the hardest battles Gwaine has ever been in, but it was the most nerve wracking. Caerleon never had an issue with magic, but almost none of the other kingdoms fought with sorcerers on their side, and the king felt it dishonorable to press an advantage like that. This was the first time Gwaine has ever fought with magic, or against it. It had been terrifying, a little exhilarating too, but it was all wrapped up in fear that Merlin would die fighting Sophia. Losing others in battle is something he was meant to be trained to accept, but Merlin is different. They both know that.

A light breeze blows through the village, and ruffles Merlin’s hair. When Gwaine looks at him, it’s hard to believe that this is the same man who wielded a Sidhe weapon like it was second nature. Merlin looks much the same as he did when Gwaine was travelling with him. Same dark hair, same blue eyes, same cheekbones that made Gwaine want to flirt with him in the first place. There’s no sign of the golden power crackling beneath his skin. He wonders if Merlin is hiding it, or if magic really isn’t as conspicuous as Gwaine thought it had to be.

“You’re staring at me.” Merlin says conversationally, and sends Gwaine a teasing grin.

Gwaine grins back, and shrugs carelessly, “Just enjoying the view.”

“Shut up and drink.” Merlin says, but it’s obvious he’s pleased.

Gwaine lifts the cup to his lips, takes a deep swallow, and nearly chokes. What he thought was water turned out to be something much stronger, and it burns its way down the back of his throat. Next to him, Merlin has pressed a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the snorts of laughter coming out of him. Gwaine glares at him, feeling far more betrayed by this prank than Merlin dragging him into this mess with Sophia to begin with.

“After all we’ve been through,” Gwaine manages after he’s caught his breath, “and you try to poison me.”

“Sorry!” Merlin says, but is overcome by a fresh wave of giggles. 

Gwaine shakes his head, “I thought you were better than this.”

“That was your mistake.” 

“You’re secretly a bit evil, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. You’d have to stick around to find out.” 

Gwaine kicks his legs out in front of him and crosses them at the ankle, “Oh? And how would I go about sticking around?”

“Well,” Merlin says and shoots Gwaine a nervous look out of the corner of his eye, “how do you feel about becoming a knight of Camelot?”

Gwaine looks over at Merlin with his nervous grin, and ability to command lightning, and knows what his answer is going to be. “Where you go, I go, my friend.”

Merlin grins one of those grins that lights up his entire face, and Gwaine knows he’s made the right choice. He can’t conceive of ever leaving Merlin behind now, not when there’s so much between them. He wants a thousand more of these hair raising adventures, and if that means having to go back into knightly duties, then so be it. It’s worth it for the way Merlin grins at him like he’s the one who hung the moon and the stars.

He leans in, hand coming to cup Merlin’s jaw, and kisses him. Gwaine feels like his lips might be tingling, and he isn’t sure if it’s from his excitement, or Merlin’s magic. He can’t wait to find out.


End file.
